


In your darkest hour

by TheLadyOrTheTiger



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cullen gets the help he needs, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow-ish burn, and the love he deserves, rated for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyOrTheTiger/pseuds/TheLadyOrTheTiger
Summary: After hearing about the Circle falling, Alistair convinces Cousland to make it their first priority. Cullen, his best friend, the man he loves, is trapped it the tower overrun with abominations, and once he gets him out, Alistair is never going to let him go.





	1. Chapter 1

“Cullen!”

He’s heard his name shouted in that voice a hundred times since the tower fell. It was usually not that shocked, not that desperate, or rather desperate in a different way, but he wasn’t falling for it this time. It was still the demon, he was sure. He ignored it. Shouting back, arguing with it was pointless.

“Cullen! Are you alright?”

He kept his back to the magical barrier. What good would it do him to see Alistair’s face being worn by an abomination again? It would only hurt.

“Cullen! Can you hear me? Cullen! Please, Maker, let him be alright.”

“That’s a new one,” Cullen spat out without thinking. Why was he getting into another useless conversation with the demon?

“New what?” The false Alistair sounded confused.

“New tactic, demon, new trick.”

“I am not a demon! Turn around, look at me.”

Without meaning to, Cullen did.

“You’ve brought ‘friends’?” he asked. Along with false Alistair there was also a demon pretending to be a young man with dark hair, a red headed female archer, and Wynne, of all people. What were the demons planning?

“Yes, we’re here to save you.”

Cullen gave a humorless laugh.

“So that’s your new plan - you want to make me think I’ll be saved, that my torment is about to end. I will not fall for it.”

“Cullen, it’s really me! Nothing bad will happen to you again, I’ll make sure of it.”

It sounded so much like the real Alistair, the one who cared about him, who always wanted to help him. Since the abominations took over the demon wearing his face was offering Cullen things Alistair never would, but this time it really captured what Alistair was truly like.

Cullen couldn’t help it - he started crying.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” he shouted through tears. “You’re not him, you’re not. I’ll never see him again, he won’t come back.”

The demon moved right to the barrier and Cullen could see tears gathering in its eyes.

“I’m here, it’s me, I’m really here for you. What can I do to convince you it’s me?”

The demon’s gloved hand was pressed to the barrier and Cullen wanted to reach out and place his against it.

“Nothing, demon. You tempt, you torture, but nothing will work on me. You will not break me.”

“There must be something, Cullen, please, believe me, I’m here, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t think you’ll convince him, Alistair,” the demon in the guise of a dark haired man said, placing his hand on Alistair’s shoulder, on the  _ demon’s _ shoulder, causing it to drop its hand.

“I will! I just need a bit more time.” There was true anguish in Alistair’s voice. The  _ demon’s _ voice, Cullen had to remind himself.

“We don’t have time,” the archer-demon told them.

“Do you think I’m a demon too?” the abomination appearing as a young man asked Cullen.

“Yes.”

“I’m not, but I know that won’t convince you. You believe we’re here to pretend to rescue you. If we actually do that, if we free you and bring you back to your commander, will you believe that we’re human?”

Cullen only snorted.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m Warden Cousland, this is Leliana. You know Alistair and Wynne already. You can ignore our words, but you can also play along. You’re risking nothing. If we save you, you win, and if we don’t, then you’re in the same position as before. Will you answer some questions for me?”

Cullen pondered the request for a moment. The demons were clever, but he could not see any benefit it could get from him answering questions about the situation it already controlled. He nodded.

“Thank you. From what you’re saying I understand that there are no templars left to be saved.”

“All others are dead or under your control.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You took pleasure in destroying them,” Cullen accused.

“And the mages who came to fight them?” the demon appearing as a young man asked, ignoring Cullen’s comment.

“They’re in the Harrowing Chamber, surrounded by blood mages and demons - if you were truly a Warden, you would kill them.” Cullen hated himself for starting to believe the creature before him was truly a man, but on the off chance that it was a Warden, Cullen had to tell him this.

“I’m not killing innocents!” the Warden-demon exclaimed.

“They’re not innocents! They’re corrupted, and if they’re freed they’ll spread their corruption, infecting everyone. Kill them!” Cullen insisted.

“You can’t mean that, Cullen. I know you,” the demon disguised as Alistair told him, his eyes wide with shock. “You always spoke about how the mages need more freedom, more compassion. You’d never…”

“I used to think that,” Cullen admitted, “but after what I saw them do… They don’t deserve freedom or compassion. They’re evil.”

“They’re people - like you and me,” the red headed demon insisted.

“You won’t convince him now, dear,” the demon imitating Wynne told its companion. “He’s been through too much. He’s not in his right mind.”

Cullen was about to respond, but the Warden-demon spoke before he could.

“Is Uldred in the Harrowing Chamber?”

“Yes. He’s there. He needs to die. And so does the rest of them.”

The false Warden sighed.

“We’ll deal with Uldred, and we’ll be back for you.”

“You must…” Cullen started, but was interrupted by the demon pretending to be Alistair.

“Please don’t say anything you may regret. We’ll sort this out, and we’ll be back for you. I’ll be back for you. You’ll see it’s truly me.”

The demon placed its hand on the barrier again and Cullen felt his fingers twitching, filled with the need for contact. The creature must’ve noticed it, because it smiled.

“You know it’s me,” it said. “Wait for me, my friend, I will be back and everything will be alright. I’ll never leave you again, I swear it.”

Cullen turned his back on the demons again, not wanting them to see him break down. This was the cruelest trick. How he wished to hear the real Alistair say that - promise him that they were never going to be parted. But it was impossible. They’ve had their own paths, and nothing was ever going to bring them back together.

“Let’s go, Alistair. The sooner we go, the sooner we’ll be back and he’ll know it’s you,” the demon-Warden said.

“You’re right. Let’s go,” the abomination agreed.

Cullen heard them moving away, and turned back to watch them retreating, to watch Alistair’s back. He knew it was not him, he knew, and yet… This time the demons came the closest to convincing him. This was the closest to his Alistair, to the real Alistair that they’ve ever gotten. If it was really him…

But it wasn’t. Cullen was only hurting himself, believing in the demon’s lies. They were as cunning as they were cruel. They’ve tried so many times, learning from each attempt, and at last they landed on what felt true. They’ve realized that Cullen would never believe that Alistair could love him back or debase himself, offer to… No, it was not right to even think of what the demons offered.

To chase the thoughts away, Cullen started praying again, begging the Maker for guidance and strength.

He wasn’t sure how long he’s been praying, when he felt a strange crackle in the air, and then saw the barrier disappear before his eyes. Could it be? He was rooted to the spot for a few long heartbeats. It felt too good to be true. Perhaps it was an illusion, and he was about to walk right into the barrier, which was only turned invisible. He made one step forward, but then stopped. He didn’t want to give the demons the satisfaction of watching him fall apart as his hopes were dashed.

He was standing in that exact same spot when the doors opened.

“Cullen!”

It was Alistair, running through the open doors. Something in Cullen jumped at the sound of his voice. Perhaps he was about to experience another torture, but he couldn’t remain impassive. This felt real. He rushed towards Alistair, past where the barrier was, and fell into his open arms.

“It’s you, it’s really you,” he whispered.

“I’m here, Cullen, I’m here,” Alistair answered.

They were both wearing armour, but it felt so comforting to have Alistair’s arms around him.

“My Alistair,” Cullen murmured.

“Yes, yours.”

They pulled away a bit, and stared at each other for a long moment. It was all so overwhelming to Cullen - being suddenly free from his torment, seeing Alistair again. There were too many feelings in his chest. He couldn’t stop tears from filling his eyes, and through them he saw Alistair start to cry as well.

“I was so scared for you. When I heard… I knew I had to come here, to save you. I can’t live in a world without you,” Alistair told him, squeezing him as tightly as possible.

“I thought I was going to die, but you came, you came for me.”

“I always will. Always.”

Cullen wanted to believe him. He was exhausted and for once he wanted someone to take care of him.

“Now let’s get you down. We have to talk to Knight-Commander Greagoir.”

They parted, awkwardly wiping at their faces. When they did, Cullen noticed Warden Cousland, Wynne and Leliana, along with First Enchanter Irving.

“The mages, what happened to the mages?” Cullen demanded.

“They’re safe,” the Warden responded.

“They’re alive?!”

“They’re innocent in all of this,” Alistair told him calmly.

“They’re a threat, they’ll kill us all,” Cullen insisted, feeling panic raising in his chest.

“They’re as hurt and scared as you,” Wynne told him.

“No, they’re not! They’re abominations, monsters…”

Alistair placed a hand on his arm.

“Be calm,” he urged. “Everything is fine now.”

“If they’re alive it’s not fine!” Cullen protested vehemently.

“Everything is alright. I’m here, and nothing will happen to you. We’ll talk to the Knight-Commander and he’ll tell you the same,” Alistair said, trying to catch his eye.

“He’ll side with me, I’m sure.” Cullen had no doubt, and that certainty allowed his breathing to return to normal. They were going to talk to the Knight-Commander and he was going to sort everything out.

“Let’s go and find out.”

Alistair wrapped an arm around his middle and led Cullen downstairs. Whatever was about to happen, at least he had this - his friend back. He was still anxious and so very tired, but he had hope. Even if he died now, he would’ve seen his beloved friend again, held him and known just how much he cared.

* * *

Alistair sat slumped on a bench in a darkened corridor. Maker, he was tired. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired. How long has it been since he last slept well? He couldn’t remember.

Ever since he heard about the Circle, he was constantly afraid, waking up from nightmares that for once didn’t involve the archdemon, but instead Cullen, lying dead on the floor, murdered by the abominations.

They got to the tower as quickly as possible, Alistair pushing for the most punishing pace, ignoring complaints from other members of their party. Cousland understood why Alistair did it. Having lost his family and knowing Cullen was the closest thing to a real family that Alistair ever had, he agreed to go and deal with that situation first. Alistair was going to be forever grateful to him for that. If they arrived even a day later, he didn’t know what would have happened.

But they came on time. Not on time to save all the templars and mages, but Cullen was safe. Alistair regretted every life lost in the Circle, but he didn’t know those people. They were all important to someone, but Cullen was important to  _ him _ . If he lost him…

He didn’t lose him. Cullen was alive, Cullen was… He wasn’t alright. He was whole in body, but his mind… The demons took the most compassionate, caring templar, and made him hate and fear all mages. He wanted to kill everyone, whether their guilt was proven or not, and that knowledge hurt Alistair. Cullen was not acting like the man he knew. The man he knew would’ve been horrified at hearing those angry words.

They fought long in Knight-Commander Greagoir’s office. Cousland was opposed to killing the mages, as was First Enchanter Irving, and so the Knight-Commander ended up agreeing with them. Cullen was livid, shaking with what Alistair assumed was both fear and anger. As Wynne has said, he was not in his right state of mind, and Alistair hoped that in time he was going to understand the error of his judgment. Alistair was going to help him understand it, he was going to remind him of who he was before the torture and the abominations.

For now Cullen slept. It was very difficult to convince him to do so, but at last exhaustion won. Alistair helped him take off his armour, just like he did when they were recruits, and it felt so impossibly good to be taking care of him. 

The moment Cullen put his head on the pillow, he was asleep. Alistair watched over him for a time. He touched his hair, and felt guilty for doing so when Cullen was unaware. He was tempted to lie down with him on the cot, but first he needed to talk to Cousland, who was with the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter. Both the templars and mages were going to aid them on their quest, and the details of the arrangement had to be settled.

Finally Cousland emerged from the office and walked towards Alistair when he saw him sitting there.

“By the time we’re done with this, I’ll be a first rate diplomat,” the young Warden joked, sliding down on the bench next to Alistair.

“Everything’s fine then?”

“As good as it can be. Shouldn’t you be asleep? You look terrible.”

“Thank you, first rate diplomat.” Alistair gave him a mocking smile. “I need to ask you for something. I know I’ve already talked you into coming here first, so maybe all my favors are used up, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“I don’t have a limit on favors for friends. Let’s hear it.”

Alistair breathed in relief. That was certainly encouraging.

“We have to take Cullen with us. I know he seems like a liability now, but he was the smartest and strongest among all the recruits I’ve trained with. He’s read more strategy books than you can name He’s trained even when we had holidays. He’s kind and loyal to a fault. He’ll be an asset to us, I swear.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

Alistair feels dizzy, hearing the words. How did Cousland know?

“It’s alright,” his friend said, his tone calm, no trace of judgment in his voice. “You can tell me. It won’t change anything.”

“I… Yes, I love him.” It felt odd to say out loud the words he feared even thinking in his own mind. But it was the truth, and he wasn’t going to lie to the man who’s been such a good friend to him.

“I suspected for a long time now,” Cousland told him with a smile, an ‘I like being right’ smile, which at times could be irritating, but at the moment wasn’t. “You talked about him so much. ‘Cullen this’, ‘Cullen that’. I feel like I already know him from all the stories you’ve told me. I knew he was your friend, at times I thought he was like a brother to you, but at others it seemed like the opposite. Finally the opposite won in my mind. I think you said something about his eyes, and I knew.”

Alistair felt himself blushing.

“I’ve never told anyone,” he confessed.

“Not even him?”

“Especially not him.”

Cousland scrunched his brows.

“I thought you two…” He made a vague gesture. It took Alistair a moment to understand what he meant.

“No! We never! What gave you the idea?”

Maker’s breath, he hoped he didn’t call out Cullen’s name in his sleep. No, that couldn’t be it. Morrigan would be the first to make fun of him for that, and she never mentioned anything of that sort.

“The demon who tormented him - it was a desire demon, you realize that, don’t you?”

“I’m not that dense,” Alistair huffed.

“The desire demon took your face. You were Cullen’s desire,” Cousland explained slowly, as if to a dim child.

“Desires are all different. You can desire someone’s companionship.”

Cousland rolled his eyes.

“We were very close. I missed him every day since we were parted. It must’ve been the same for him,” Alistair explained. Cullen didn’t want him in that way, he was sure of it.

“Cullen thought us saving him was a new trick. What do you think the old ones were?”

“I don’t know. Us being together again, able to spar and walk the woods and eat cake?”

“You’re naive.”

“You’re dirty-minded.”

Cousland laughed and shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. You’ll find out the truth soon enough, if you’ll just open your eyes and stop denying the obvious.”

Alistair felt his heart skip a beat.

“Does that mean he’s coming with us?”

“Of course! I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave him here, where he’s suffered so much. He’s not acting like the man you’ve described, and no one here will help him return to that. Only you can. Only you care enough to. I settled the matter with the Knight-Commander already. He wasn’t pleased, you can be sure of that, but I insisted that I pick the templars and mages who will aid us on our quest, and Cullen was at the top of my list. Wynne helped me choose the mages, and now we’re done here.”

Alistair couldn’t speak. Instead he hugged his friend.

“You’re welcome,” the Warden said, hugging him back.

“Thank you. A million times. I will never forget this. And you won’t regret it.” Alistair could hardly believe his luck. Cousland did this for him without having to be asked, he went out on a limb for Alistair, risked so much, out of compassion, out of friendship. He was a great man, and an even better friend.

“I’m sure I won't. But… His views on mages at the moment are unacceptable. I will not hesitate to tell him so. I will not let him treat Morrigan or Wynne or any of our mage allies poorly. You’ll have to keep him in line or I will.” His words were stern, but Alistair appreciated the honesty.

“I will. I promise,” he told him. He was going to do anything and everything Cousland wanted him to. “But you know, when someone’s mean to Morrigan, or even wants to kill her, it’s usually for a good, non mage related reason,” he joked.

“I swear to the Maker, I will make you two tolerate each other if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.”

“I’m not sure even you’re capable of that.”

“We’ll see. Now go to him, get some sleep. We’re leaving in the morning.”

“Yes, sir!” Alistair got up and mock-saluted. “Again, thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” he added, completely seriously.

“Don’t mention it.”

Alistair was about to walk away, when a thought stopped him in his tracks.

“You did very well today. You saved people and convinced both mages and templars to help us. I knew you were the right man to lead us.”

“Thank you, Alistair.” Cousland smiled brightly at him. “It really means a lot to hear that.”

Alistair nodded and followed the corridor to the spare room where Cullen slept. He looked peaceful in his slumber. Alistair stripped off his own armour and sat on the edge of the cot.

‘I love you,’ he thought. He wasn’t going to say it, but at least he could think it in Cullen’s general direction.

He lifted the blanked which covered Cullen, and laid down next to him. Just like when they were younger.

Cullen didn’t even stir as Alistair pressed himself against his back and slipped an arm around his middle, and he took that as a good sign, smiling before he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen woke up from a nightmare, catching panicked breaths. The dream was slipping from his mind quickly, only traces of blood and screams left.

There was an arm around him, a body behind him. He wanted to push it away, but then he realized who it was.

“It’s alright, it was only a dream,” Alistair told him, tightening his hold on him, and Cullen relaxed, grabbing the hand which rested on his stomach.

“It’s you,” he breathed.

“Yes. I’m here. I’ll always be here.” Cullen felt the words against his neck as much as he heard them.

“You’ll leave.”

“You’ll leave with us.”

Cullen turned to face Alistair, trying to read his face in the near darkness of the room.

“I’m not leaving you here. You’re coming with me,” his friend explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“But I’m a Templar, I serve here.” 

It wasn’t that Cullen didn’t want to leave - every fiber of his being was screaming for him to leave this accursed place where such horrible things happened to him, and to be with Alistair, but he took a vow, and he couldn’t renounce it.

“You wanted to serve, to help people. You’ll do that fighting the Blight. You’ll help so many more people that way,” Alistair told him. “The Knight-Commander is giving us some of his forces, and you’re among their number. It’s all settled.”

“And when it’s done?” Cullen asked, not contented to feel relieved, needing to spoil the good news with worries for the distant future.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Alistair laughed. “I suppose you’ll join the Wardens, or I’ll return to the Templars or we’ll run away to eat cheese and live in sin.”

The last part was a joke, but what came before wasn’t, and Cullen couldn’t quite believe it.

“You would rejoin the Templars? But you hated it, you wanted to leave it behind.”

Alistair shrugged.

“Yesterday I promised you that we’ll never be apart again, and I intend to keep my promise, whatever it takes. I’m not making the mistake of being parted from you ever again.”

In that moment Cullen had a rather profound realization. Alistair loved him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love him in the same was as Cullen did him. The force of the feeling was there. He would change all his plans, his goals, uproot his life just to be with Cullen, and if that wasn’t love, then Cullen didn’t know what was.

“I can’t let you do that. I’m not worth it.”

Alistair squeezed his hand.

“You are. To me you are. I shouldn’t have left. Or I should have convinced you to come with me.”

“We have different paths.” 

Cullen remembered the day Alistair left, remembered sobbing in their room, alone. All the way he encouraged Alistair to go, because that was his dream, and Cullen always wanted to help him achieve his dreams. So many times he wanted to beg him to stay, but he always held his tongue, because he thought that if he asked, Alistair may have stayed, and then regretted that decision for the rest of his life. 

He never thought of joining Alistair - his life was in the Chantry, people depended on him - his instructors, his parents back home. He couldn’t let them down. That has been his dream since he was a boy, even if years later it felt hollow, since he was losing the person who came to mean the world to him. 

“We used to have different paths,” Alistair countered. “Now it’s one. I’m making it one.”

“You really mean it.”

“I do. Only bad things happen when we’re apart. If I were here with you…”

“I’m glad you weren’t,” Cullen cut him off. “If you died here because you stayed for me… I would’ve never forgiven myself.” He didn’t even want to think of that, it was far too painful, worse than any torture.

“We’ll never know what would’ve happened. If I convinced you to join the Wardens, we’d most likely both be safe. But I knew how much you loved the Chantry - I didn’t think you’d even consider leaving it.”

Cullen never asked Alistair if he could go with him, but thinking about it from this vantage point, he knew that if Alistair asked him to, he would’ve probably joined him. Was it something he should tell him now? Or would that only make things worse, give Alistair more regrets?

In the end he didn’t say it, only yawned.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” he told Alistair instead.

“That’s alright.”

“Perhaps you should sleep somewhere else?”

For a second he thought he saw sadness on Alistair’s face at the suggestion.

“If you want me to,” he said, his voice unnaturally light.

“I don’t,” Cullen responded, before thinking better of it. “I’m only concerned for your sleep.”

“I have nightmares too, it’s nothing new. It would be easier to not wake up alone when I do. Just like back when we shared a room. Now we’ll share a tent.”

Cullen smiled.

“I’ve never slept in a tent.”

“It’s not that pleasant. But it will be better with you there. I missed you. Have I said that before?”

“You haven’t. And I missed you too.”

Cullen yawned again.

“Let’s sleep.”

With a nod, Cullen rolled back, facing the wall, and sighed when he felt Alistair moving closer to him, his warmth and strength a comfort.

* * *

When the morning came and Alistair woke up with Cullen wrapped around him, it felt like the first good day in a century of bad ones. They must’ve moved around on the tiny cot a lot during the night. They fell asleep with Cullen’s back to his front, and now it was the other way around. Alistair never wanted to move, but he knew he had to. They were leaving. They were leaving with Cullen. That thought made getting up easier.

When he did so, Cullen also woke up, amber eyes cracking open, then squinting in confusion.

“Everything’s fine. The demons are dead, I’m with you and we’re leaving,” Alistair reminded him.

Cullen breathed out audibly. 

“What about the mages?”

Alistair dreaded that question, hoped Cullen would leave the subject be.

“Those who were innocent are fine.”

“There are no innocents in this tower,” Cullen responded sharply, getting into a sitting position.

“The Knight-Commander agreed with us - they were spared.”

“He hasn’t seen what I saw. Neither did you.” Cullen clenched his fists.

“I know we can’t even comprehend what you went through, but not every mage is capable of doing such a thing.” 

“No! Every mage is capable of it. Not every one will do it, but only because they’ll be well guarded.”

“This isn’t you talking.” Alistair tried to be calm, but he found it hard to talk to Cullen when he acted like that.

“I was naive before. Stupid. Now I see them for the threat they truly are.” Cullen crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

“The decision has been made. You may not like it, but you’ve always followed orders, so there’s nothing else for you to do here.” 

Alistair would’ve liked to reason with him, to appeal to his better nature and not boil it down to the chain of command, but there was no time for subtleties at the moment. He had to believe that Cullen was going to come to his senses eventually.

“I don’t like it,” Cullen muttered, nonetheless getting up and walking to the basin to wash his face. “You must be vigilant. Don’t trust the mages.”

Alistair sighed and joined him at the basin.

“There are going to be mages traveling with us. Not the ones who’ve been up there, in the Harrowing Chamber, but mages, from the tower. And so will Templars, who will watch over them. There are also two mages in our inner circle, since Wynne joined. I know you’ll be watching their every move, but don’t be outwardly hostile towards them. They won’t harm you. We all have the same goal.”

He didn’t say anything about Morrigan being an apostate and a bully to boot. Cullen was going to find out the later quickly, but perhaps the former could remain a secret. He was going to have to talk to Cousland, persuade him to exert his influence over the witch so that she’d leave Cullen alone and not frighten him.

“I will not attack them without provocation, this I can promise you, but I will be on my guard.”

That had to be good enough for the time being, Alistair decided.

“We have a deal,” he told Cullen, patting him on the shoulder.

With that question settled, they helped each other put on their respective armour, which felt natural, as if they did the exact same thing the previous day, and the one before that, stretching for months.

They joined the rest of the party in the dining hall. Introductions were made, with Alistair standing by Cullen’s side the whole time, hoping to calm him with his presence, and it didn’t go over terribly. They all ate their breakfast in silence, no one feeling very talkative or enthusiastic after what’s happened in the tower.

“Where are we going exactly?” Cullen asked when they were setting off.

“Redcliffe. It’s said that there’s trouble there.”

“Redcliffe? The same Redcliffe where you grew up? Where that arlessa treated you so horribly?”

Alistair shrugged and nodded. He didn’t think about the reunion with arl Eamon and arlessa Isolde much before. His one goal was getting to Cullen. What came after that mattered little.

“I think I’m going to have a word with her.” There was something fierce and almost frightening in Cullen’s tone.

He knew all about Alistair’s past, about him being the king’s bastard, growing up in arl Eamon’s stables and then being denied even that, instead forced to go to the monastery. No one else knew back then - Alistair trusted only Cullen with his secrets. In exchange for his trust, he was rewarded with support, kindness and the privilege of hearing Cullen curse, calling Isolde some words Alistair never suspected the prim and proper Cullen of knowing. Now it seemed he was still mad at the arlessa.

“It’s not worth it.” The sentiment was appreciated, but the last thing Alistair wanted was to get Cullen in trouble.

“She has to know what she did, how awful she was,” Cullen went on, undeterred.

“I think they already have plenty of trouble.”

“The entire kingdom does. She’s not special.”

“No, she’s not. So don’t concern yourself with her. She doesn’t have any hold on me anymore.”

Cullen noded, but didn’t seem entirely convinced. A worry for another day.

As they marched, Cullen seemed distant. Alistair tried to engage him in idle conversation and make jokes, but that didn’t seem to work. Did Cullen need silence? Was Alistair annoying him? Maker, what was he doing? There were no rules for trying to help a friend you haven’t seen for a long time and were in love with deal with a horrible trauma. Alistair was on no one’s list of most tactful and insightful people, he was ill suited to the task, but he was going to try his damndest, because this was Cullen, and he deserved everything.

“Is there something troubling you?” Alistair winced at the words. “I’m sorry. I mean - what is weighing on your mind at the moment? I want to help. I don’t know how, but I want to. Will you tell me how?”

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how to help me either.” Cullen laughed without mirth. “It helps that you’re here, by my side. It also helps that I’m not back there. I’m not sure how I would’ve faired if I were to remain.” He looked off to the side. “I will tell you when I need something,” he added after a moment.

“Will you? Will you really?” Alistair questioned. “I know you. You’re used to relying on yourself, you  _ like _ relying on yourself. You enjoy helping and you’re not one to ask for help.”

Cullen looked at him and gave a genuine smile.

“You do know me. But I promise you, I will ask for what I need. I trust you. I want your help. I need your help. I just need… you.”

With an odd frown, Cullen turned back to look at the road ahead, while Alistair’s heart leaped in his chest. He hated the fact that Cullen needed help, but it felt so good to know that he was the one who was needed.

“Do you want to tell me what you were thinking about the whole morning?” he prompted.

“It’s… complicated. It’s still so hard to believe I’m free and the demons are dead. I find myself looking over my shoulder, wondering what’s about to jump out at me, only to realize there’s nothing there. That makes me glad, but then I realize that I’m here, but so many of my brothers and sisters are not. Do I have the right to be glad while they are dead?”

Maker, that was a weighty question. Alistair had no idea how to answer it. But he had to try.

“You not being glad won’t bring them back, won’t undo what happened.”

Cullen frowned. Was that the wrong thing to say?

“I know it won’t, but it feels wrong, like dishonoring them.”

“I never knew them. Would they want you to feel this way? Would you want them to if your roles were reversed?”

“I… I don’t know.”

They walked without a word for a time.

“I think you’re honoring them by being alive, and you’ll continue to do so by protecting people, like they did.”

“They tried to protect people from the mages. I’ll continue doing that.”

That again. Alistair groaned internally.

“I was thinking about fighting the Blight.”

“That too,” Cullen agreed.

Once more that day, Alistair decided that that had to be enough.

* * *

By the time the day was done and they were setting up camp, Cullen was pleasantly tired. Being in the Circle always made him a bit restless. He was confined to one building, marching down corridors or standing around, all indoors. Of course he had to spar with his brothers and sisters, which provided an adequate amount of physical exertion, but there was nothing quite like walking in nature at a brisk pace.

He followed Alistair’s instructions as they set up a tent,  _ their _ tent. It looked very small, but they didn’t need much space. The others had a tent all to themselves, and Cullen wondered if him sharing Alistair’s tent wasn’t going to make his companions gossip. He wouldn’t want to put Alistair in a difficult position, but he didn’t seem to care, and the others didn’t even raise an eyebrow as they both crawled in after removing their armour.

Their companions seemed rather decent, Cullen decided. Warden Cousland was naive, not taking Cullen’s warnings about mages to heart, but other than that, he appeared to be a strong leader, listening to the suggestions of the others but always having the final say. He was considerate and polite but also firm. Cullen respected that. 

Leliana, the young archer, was a nice woman and had a very pleasant singing voice. She exchanged a few sentences with Cullen, and he found talking to her easy. 

Sten, a stoic qunari, was very focused on their task, not prone to idle talk. He seemed like the dependable sort. 

Then there was Zevran, an Antivan assassin. It was disconcerting to find out about his former employment, but maybe it was better that they had him on their side. No one seemed worried about him and his allegiances, so Cullen decided not to concern himself with them either. Besides, he had other things to worry about.

Wynne was traveling with them. She was a mage, which meant that she was a threat, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to fear her as much as he should. There was something kind in her. He knew her in the tower, and she was nothing if not pleasant, wise and eager to help. Now she inquired as to his well-being and offered some tea and a biscuit. She reminded him of his grandmother, who passed away when he was a boy, before he went off for templar training. Cullen knew better than to drop his guard, so he didn’t tell Wynne much and didn’t encourage her spending time with him, but he took the offered drink and cookie.

The one person who worried him most was Morrigan. She appeared very self satisfied, standoffish and unapproachable. Her outfit was more than a little unorthodox. Could she be an apostate? It was not impossible. He was going to keep a very close watch over her.

“How was your first day away from the tower?” Alistair asked, settling down on a bedroll, forcing Cullen to stop thinking of Morrigan.

“It’s good to be out. I think I will get along with your companions, for the most part.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I know they’re an odd bunch, but they all have good intentions and will have your back in a difficult situation.”

“I think that for now you’re the only person I want to have my back.” 

Cullen never trusted others easily, and after what he’s been through, he knew it was going to be ever harder. But eventually he was going to have to rely on those people in a fight, and he had to accept that.

“You know I always will. But in order to do that, I need some rest. We both do. So… do you want to uh… sleep with me?”

Cullen meant to refuse him, but somehow his mouth changed the words into “If you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

Alistair dragged the second bedroll closer to his own. Cullen laid down on his back and pulled the blanket over himself. 

“Good night, Cullen.” Alistair moved closer to him, their arms touching. 

“Good night, Alistair.” Cullen wanted to have him closer, and at the same time wanted to move away. His feelings confused him, even more than when they first shared a room and a bed.

He wasn’t going to tell Alistair that, but at times looking at him was frightening. Cullen knew this was the right Alistair, his Alistair, but he was so used to distrusting his face, his voice, that it was difficult to stop. He also felt guilty - guilty that the demon pulled his innermost thoughts and used Alistair’s face and body because it saw him there. Alistair didn’t know, wouldn’t know, what the demon made him say, made him offer, would’ve made him do if Cullen agreed. 

Was it wrong for him to take Alistair’s help and love, despite the fact that he was unworthy of it? Would Alistair want to lay down with him like that if he knew what more Cullen wanted from him?

Used to want from him, Cullen corrected himself. He never expected Alistair to return his feelings, and he wasn’t proud of the inappropriate thoughts he entertained about him - thoughts of kissing him to stop him when he started making self deprecating jokes, of moving his hand under his clothes when they laid together, feeling the muscles flexing under his touch, feeling… 

He couldn’t go on. The thoughts weren’t just inappropriate. They made his stomach turn. The demons made them worse, tainted. Anything even remotely sexual made Cullen deeply uneasy. The thought of touching even himself felt… repugnant. Perhaps the demons killed that part of him which yearned for physical intimacy, but that wasn’t the worst thing to lose, was it?

Maybe it was good that the demons worked with the most overblown versions of his desires - they left what was real alone. He could learn to forget the false Alistair with his unnaturally seductive smile and lurid promises, and only enjoy the presence of this Alistair, real Alistair who offered platonic hugs and light hearted jokes.

As he thought those things, Alistair drifted off to sleep. Cullen listened to his even breathing at his side, tries to imitate it, to get his own to match it. It seemed to be working. His mind was not spinning quite as fast, his lids were heavy…

He was asleep, and then he wasn’t. Something jolted him awake. He opened his eyes quickly. He was on his side, and so was Alistair, facing him, close, so close, his lips parted next to Cullen’s face. Something in his gut lurched, fear gripped him, and he pushed at the body before him, with hands and feet, his limbs landing randomly.

Alistair yelped in fear or pain, coming to. The moment he saw his eyes, full of confusion and hurt, Cullen instantly felt guilty. Reality set in. This was not the demon trying to kiss him. This was Alistair who happened to lay very close and breathe through parted lips.

“I’m so sorry,” he rushed to say.

“A nightmare?” Alistair asked, running his hands over his own chest, stomach and thighs, wincing slightly.

Cullen only nodded.

“Did I hurt you very badly?”

“Don’t flatter yourself - your sleepy shoving can’t harm a mighty warrior like me.” 

That was so very Alistair - he didn’t care about his own comfort, instead making a joke, trying to put Cullen at ease, the injured party caring for the aggressor.

“Perhaps you’d like me to sleep somewhere else?” Cullen offered.

“I don’t. But maybe you do?”

There it was again, that conflicting push and pull - the need to be closer and yet further apart.

“I’m here for you, Cullen, whatever you need. I know…” Alistair sighed. “I know the demon pretended to be me. That may be confusing. If being around me is difficult, I’ll give you space.”

Cullen’s heart was beating far too fast. Did Alistair know what the demon offered? What Cullen used to desire? It didn’t appear that way, but Cullen found it hard to calm himself.

“It is confusing. But it could never replicate you perfectly. You are you and it was not. It didn’t wear your face all the time, and it didn’t focus on me constantly. For long stretches of time it allowed me to see my brothers and sisters, their torment.” Cullen shuddered, and tried to banish the memories. “It will get better with time, I know. But until that happens you will run the risk of me assaulting you. You shouldn’t have to go through that.” 

“I don’t mind. Alright, it’s not pleasant to be attacked in the night, but if the benefits of having me here outweigh the discomforts, then I’m willing to take my chances,” Alistair responded simply.

“You’re willing to do far too much for me.”

Guilt gnawed at Cullen again. It was not fair, he was too demanding, too difficult. Alistair shouldn’t have to suffer so because of him.

“Let me decide what is too much and what isn’t. You didn’t complain when you nursed me through more than one sickness, when you had to help me learn all those prayers or when you took my punishment for me after I started snoring during morning prayer.”

“That’s not the same.”

“Maybe. Can we not talk about it anymore? I want to go to sleep. We have a long way to walk tomorrow. And don’t feel guilty about keeping me up - just don’t argue with me anymore.”

Alistair smiled at him, and Cullen smiled back and nodded.

“How do you want to sleep?”

“Back to back?” Cullen suggested.

“Sounds good.”

Alistair laid back on his bedroll and turned his back on Cullen, who did the same. They barely touched and at the moment that was good.

“Thank you,” Cullen whispered, feeling like his heart was about to burst with gratitude.

“You are very welcome,” were the last words he heard before falling into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read this chapter several times already, but today I gave it a last once over, and noticed that I wrote that Cullen was squirting his eyes, instead of squinting. No matter how many times I read something, there's always going to be a mistake that slips through the cracks. I'm sorry about that. Also, if you see one, don't hesitate to let me know.
> 
> I'm not sure if that will be interesting to anyone, but Mumford & Sons' latest album, Delta, is my soundtrack for writing this. I've had the title for the story picked out before the album came out, and then in the first song I heard "But what if I need you in my darkest hour?", so it felt like it was made for me. In the second song there's a line that goes "And I swear you'll see the dawn again", which immediately makes me think of "The dawn will come".
> 
> If you have a sec, consider leaving a comment or kudos.


	3. Chapter 3

The road to Redcliffe was rather long, but pleasant. One could even call it picturesque, if one were looking towards the lakes and forests, and ignoring destroyed villages and the infrequent darkspawn attacks.

The attacks weren’t much of a problem - with their bolstered numbers they could take the creatures on with ease, and at times it was almost a welcome distraction from the monotony of travel. 

The first time it happened, some four days after they’ve left the Circle tower, Alistair was once more impressed with Cullen’s fighting prowess. He always knew how good his friend was, but it was one thing to remember something, and quite another to witness it. Cullen was smart and methodical in his attacks, didn’t charge in blindly, but when he saw an opening, he would strike with devastating strength. Of course Alistair couldn’t stare for long, needing to act himself, but he appreciate the glimpses he got.

During another confrontation with the darkspawn, Cullen called Alistair over, suggesting they fight back to back, seeing as the hoard was attacking from several directions. It was quite astounding how in tune they were, despite having been apart for so long, unable to practice together. It was as if they sensed each other, moving so as not to leave the other unprotected or impede his movements.

When the fight was done and they were resting against a tree, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from their brows, it struck Alistair anew just how beautiful Cullen was. Perhaps not beautiful, he corrected himself. That sounded soft, and after a battle there was nothing soft about Cullen. He was magnificent.

“Did I get blood on my face?” Cullen asked.

“No. Why?”

“You were looking at me for a long time.”

Alistair felt himself blushing, and turned away. Maker, was he very obvious in his love struck admiration?

“I just… You fight well. Even better than when we were recruits,” he explained.

“I would certainly hope I’ve gotten better. If I regressed, I’d be very disappointed in myself.” Cullen chuckled. “You didn’t do terribly either. The Wardens put you through your paces, I see.”

“Yes, Duncan was… He was a great teacher.”

“He’s the Warden who recruited you, isn’t he?”

Cullen didn’t know, and Alistair felt a lump in his throat, thinking of explaining everything to him.

“Yes. He was a great man. He died. At Ostragar.”

Alistair felt angry tears welling in his eyes. There were days when it seemed so distant, and he could deal with it, but then came times when it felt like a fresh wound.

“I’m so sorry you’ve lost him.” Cullen found his hand on the ground and squeezed it. “We’ll make them pay,” he declared, “the darkspawn and Loghain, the whole lot.”

“We will,” Alistair agreed, squeezing his hand back.

“If you ever want to talk about him… about anything… I’m here for you. I’m not all that fragile - I can be your support, just like you are mine,” Cullen offered.

“You already are my support. Just having you here means the world to me.”

Cullen smiled uncertainty, as if he couldn’t quite believe Alistair’s words, but he didn’t say anything. There was nothing more to be said, or at least nothing that wouldn’t end in disaster. 

‘I love you,’ Alistair thought again, and maybe he was never going to say it out loud, but he had Cullen’s hand in his as the words passed though his mind, and that was something.

The night after that fight they both slept peacefully, but it wasn’t always so. Some nights Cullen woke up two, three or four times, breathing heavily, screaming or crying. Sometimes he needed Alistair to hold him and whisper to him that he was with him, that everything was alright. Other times he needed Alistair to keep his distance. When that happened, there was something odd on Cullen’s face - confusion, apprehension. He never wanted to talk about it, but Alistair suspected it had something to do with what the demon wearing his face did. It was a desire demon, so could it have hurt Cullen? That sounded counterintuitive. One day they were going to have to talk about it, but Alistair wasn’t going to push Cullen to do it before he was ready.

Cullen’s nightmares never followed a pattern - they could go days with things being relatively alright, then it would get worse, before getting better, and worse… Alistair had no idea what that meant and if it was ever going to end, but even if it didn’t, they would deal with it.

At least Cullen didn’t attack him in the night again. When it happened, it was deeply frightening. Alistair very much wanted to avoid that, but just like with everything else, they would deal with it if it repeated.

Oddly enough, it helped when Alistair had a nightmare of his own. He was dreaming about the archdemon, and when he woke up with a scream, Cullen was right by his side, holding him close, tethering him to reality. It was a great comfort to Alistair, but it also helped Cullen, made him feel useful. Alistair hated the nightmares, but if they were somehow going to lessen Cullen’s guilt, then it would be worth it.

Since Alistair couldn’t command his dreams, he tried to find other ways for Cullen to be productive. He proved a better cook than Alistair, which wasn’t a surprise. The entire party praised his efforts, and it was a pleasure to see Cullen proud, even if it all came with a heaping helping of ridicule directed Alistair’s way.

Cullen was getting along better and better with their merry little band of misfits. Leliana convinced him to sing with her, since she already knew from Alistair that Cullen was known as the best voice in the monastery, and it proved as pleasant for Cullen as for those listening to him. 

Cousland consulted Cullen on some of his plans, and the two seemed to understand each other perfectly. Cullen was always better at leading than Alistair (which admittedly was faint praise), and Alistair was glad Cousland had a new adviser.

Sten was glad for another sparring partner, and Cullen found his interactions with the qunari instructive.

Zevran proved to be the best chess partner for Cullen. Alistair bought a simple chessboard from Bodahn, and offered to play with Cullen, knowing how much he always enjoyed the game. He was aware that he wasn’t going to be a challenge for Cullen, but then Zevran stepped in, and the two bonded over the game.

When it came to the mages, Cullen always kept his distance, never hostile, but not pleasant in the slightest. Morrigan didn’t care, and, probably on Cousland’s insistence, avoided any contact with Cullen, even going so far as to forgo her biting comments. 

Wynne on the other hand tried to show Cullen kindness at every turn, mending his shirts, offering sweets and speaking in quiete tones. Sometimes Cullen would start acting normally around her, before he caught himself and returned to his cold and guarded demeanor, but those small moments when he relaxed and laughed with the elderly made gave Alistair hope that Cullen was slowly going to return to his old self.

That hope was severely tested after they reached Redcliff and had to deal with more than one magical calamity.

Alistair’s nervousness was steadily increasing as they were coming nearer to the village, thoughts of his unhappy childhood resurfacing. He tried to put it all behind him, to not be bitter or sad, but just the proximity to what was supposed to have been his home was causing him unease. He’s told Cullen that it was all behind him, and he wasn’t lying - he truly thought it was, but his feelings were rapidly shifting.

It was easier not to dwell on the past after they’ve met with bann Teagan and found out about the nightly attacks of the undead. The information about arl Eamon’s sickness made Alistair doubly anxious to face the threat and try and help him. The man was not perfect, bowing down to every wish of his cruel wife, but he was kind to Alistair on more than a few occasions. And even if he weren’t, he’d still be an important ally to their cause.

Even with the help from the villagers, the battle with the creatures left everyone in the party exhausted. They were just sharing a small meal after finding a relatively corpse free part of the village, when arlessa Isolde joined them. Alistair felt himself tensing at the sight of her. She looked older than he remembered her, older than the years they haven’t seen each other warranted. There were deep lines on her forehead and white streaks in her hair. She look tired and unhappy. Alistair wondered if it made him feel better. It didn’t. The arlessa barely acknowledged him, and Alistair tried to act as nonchalant as she did. He could feel Cullen’s gaze on him, his friend watching for his reaction, so he smiled reassuringly. He wasn’t sure it was entirely convincing. Cullen moved closer to him, and the gesture bolstered Alistair’s spirits.

It was Cullen who needed support when the arlessa explained that a mage, working on Loghain’s orders, poisoned arl Eamon and unleashed a great evil on the castle. Cullen was ready to storm the gates at the words, more than happy to execute the imprisoned mage. Luckily Cousland had other plans, and as much as he hated it, Cullen always followed orders.

They were all tired beyond words, but there was no time to waste. After they made it to the castle and found the mage, Cullen again advocated for his summary execution, despite the fact that the mage swore he had nothing to do with the undead, and wanted to pay for his sins. The anger in his friend’s words worried Alistair. It went beyond the justified anger at the mage’s actions - there was pure hatred in them, hatred and fear. This entire situation was not helping to change Cullen’s opinion of mages back to what it once was.

Still, cooler heads prevailed, and the mage was made to come along with them to help. Cullen walked right behind him, tense like an animal about to pounce on its prey. He would remain in that state as long as the mage behaved, but even the slightest provocation would result in the prisoner’s death, Alistair had no doubt. He sincerely hoped the mage truly wanted to help - not as much for his sake, as for Cullen’s.

They’ve made it through the castle, fighting the undead at every turn, until they came upon the worst possible situation - the arlessa was in the Main Hall, along with her possessed son, Connor, and bann Teagan, who was controlled by a demon. As they fought of the bann and his men, Connor disappeared from the hall. When Teagan returned to himself, the question of what to do with Connor arose. 

After the mage told them that killing the boy was the easiest course of action, Alistair feared that Cullen was going to agree with him, but his friend was silent for a moment.

“He’s just a child,” he whispered, almost as if to himself. “A child. We can’t kill a child.”

“Thank you.” Cousland smiled. “Of course we can’t. There must be another way.”

“I could use blood magic and…” the mage started.

“No!” Cullen shouted, his hand on the pommel of his sword. “There will be NO blood magic or your life is forfeit.”

“If it’s the only way to save my son’s life then we must do it,” the arlessa pleaded, her voice breaking.

“No blood magic. Never again. I will not allow it. Never. Never.” Cullen was almost shaking, and Alistair stepped closer to him to calm him, a hand on his shoulder.

“There may be another way,” the mage interjected. “But we need more mages, experienced ones, from the Circle.”

“We have those,” Cousland told him, himself visibly relaxing.

“There will be no blood magic?” Cullen had to know.

“None.”

Cullen sighed in relief, the tension draining from his frame, and Alistair felt like he could breathe again. Thank the Maker they weren’t going to have to make a choice between a boy’s life and blood magic.

After bringing in the mages, they set off to find Connor. The boy was clearly frightened, begging them to not let the demon hurt anyone else. Cullen and Alistair could only watch as the ritual begun. Wynne was the one to go into the Fade, which comforted Cullen - she was the one mage he least mistrusted.

It felt like the process lasted a small eternity, but at last Wynne came to, and so did Connor. The arlessa sobbed in joy as she embraced him, and Alistair felt happy for them.

Having sufficiently hugged her boy, the arlessa turned to the matter of the arl. Only the sacred ashes of Andraste, located in the chantry in Heaven, deep in the Frostback Mountains, could save his life, she told them. Meanwhile Teagan wanted Cousland’s opinion on what to do with the traitorous mage. The Warden echoed everyone’s sentiment when he groaned and shook his head.

“We’ve just killed more undead and demons than should be possible in a day - we need rest. We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow. Now show us to your guest rooms, give us food and for Maker’s sake baths - we all stink like the grave.” Cousland’s tone brooked no argument, and yet the arlessa protested feably.

“The servants are all dead…”

“Bring in people from the village, draw a bath yourself - I don’t care. We saved your son’s life and are going to save your husband’s as well - what’s that worth to you?” The naturally polite Cousland must have been deeply exhausted to speak in such a manner, but Alistair inwardly applauded every word.

“I’ll go fetch some people, you show them to the guest rooms, Isolde,” Teagan ordered.

The arlessa demurred and waved for them to follow.

“We don’t have enough rooms for all of you,” she informed them, nearly contrite.

“We’ll share,” Cousland stated flatly.

And that was how Cullen and Alistair found themselves in a small room with a double bed. They helped each other take off their armour, sighing as the heavy metal was lifted, leaving them blessedly light.

The food arrived shortly thereafter, followed by a large tub, which the villagers filled up with water. When the last pale of water was emptied, Alistair started stripping off his dirty clothes. He was standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his breeches by the time he noticed Cullen was still dressed and looking anywhere but at him. They’ve already seen each other naked and bathed with other recruits at the monastery more than once, so what could be the problem?

“The tub is big enough for the both of us,” Alistair said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, it’s just… I… I can’t. Can we do it separately?” Cullen asked, his voice quiet, nervous.

“Of course.” Alistair found his behaviour strange, but he wasn’t going to press the issue.

“Thank you. Go first. I’ll be out in the corridor.”

Before Alistair could say another word, Cullen was gone. He finished undressing and stepped into the pleasantly warm water, still wondering what could be the matter with Cullen. Did he have some scars he was ashamed of? Alistair couldn’t think of a single other reason why he’d insist they take turns.

He washed up quickly, not wanting Cullen to wait, and they changed places. Both clean, they settled into the bed.

They were tired, but sleep didn’t seem to come easily for either of them. Alistair thought he may have been shifting even more than Cullen.

“I can’t sleep,” he whispered.

“I can’t either,” Cullen admitted. “I keep thinking… I keep thinking that if Warden Cousland listened to me, if I had my way, the mage would've been dead, and so would Connor. We wouldn’t have known how to free him from the demon’s power. I would’ve never known, but I would’ve been responsible for his death. A child.”

His voice cracked on the last word and Alistair reached out to touch his hand in the dark. He didn’t know how to respond - it was all true, and saying “But it didn’t happen” would feel hollow.

“It’s good that Cousland stopped me, that he was in charge,” Cullen continued. “I know I’m right about magic being a great threat, but I can’t let this push me into always seeking one solution. Now that his use is over, the mage deserves death, but letting him try to redeem himself beforehand was the right choice. Anger prevented me from seeing reason, and I can’t let it happen again. Consequences of acting in blind rage can be impossibly terrible.”

Alistair felt lighter after hearing the words. That was the Cullen he knew, or part of him. He was returning.

“I was afraid… For a moment I was afraid you’d think killing Connor was the better option,” he admitted.

For a moment there was no sound, and Alistair was afraid that Cullen was angry. He didn’t know why he voiced that worry. But perhaps Cullen needed to be confronted with the harsh truth.

“That’s fair,” Cullen admitted finally. “After what I said in the tower… I’d never wish to harm a child, and yet if there was a child in that Harrowing Chamber, would I not advocate it be killed? I don’t know. Here I clearly saw that Connor was a victim, a child left without guidance, away from the Circle where he belongs, but there? I hope I would’ve wanted a child in the tower spared, but I can’t be certain. My mind feels like it’s tied in knots. The demon ruined so much in me.” His voice shook, and Alistair held his hand tightly.

“You’re not ruined,” he insisted.

“But I am! All that I believed, of myself and of others, it’s gone. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know… I don’t…”

“Shhh.” Alistair brought him closer, trying to stop the frantic words pouring from his friend’s mouth. “You’re fine. You’ll be fine.”

“I was a Templar, I was supposed to serve, to protect. Was I naive then? Am I cruel now? What’s true? What if the mages kill everyone? What if they don’t and I would’ve wanted to kill innocents? I don’t… I don’t…”

His breathing has become quick and uneven.

Alistair sat up and pulled Cullen along with him, grabbing both of his arms.

“Breath. Breath with me. Slowly,” he instructed. He wasn’t sure if that would help, but the sounds coming out of Cullen were scaring him.

Cullen followed his command, and after a few moments his breathing started sounding normal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Alistair squeezed his hands, and Cullen pulled them away.

“You’re a good man Alistair, and no one would think differently if you decided that this was too much for you, that…”

“Shut up.” Alistair was surprised that the words left his mouth. He should be kind, patient, but he couldn’t stand Cullen talking in that manner. “You are not too much for me. You never will be. There’s no one I care about more than you, so don’t you dare say that nonsense again. Would you leave me behind if you were in my position?”

“Of course not!” Cullen sounded genuinely indignant at the suggestion.

“See? For a smart man, you do sound like an idiot sometimes.”

That prompted a laugh from Cullen.

“I suppose I do. I just… feel so lost.”

“So let’s get you un-lost.”

“Found you mean?”

“There he goes, Ser Dictionary.”

Cullen laughed again.

“With you here I feel like I can un-lose myself.”

There was so much tenderness in those words, that Alistair practically felt his own heart breaking.

“You will. Maybe life isn’t going to be what you expected it to be, what you planned, but it will be alright,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t waver too much.

“What was on your mind?” Cullen asked.

For a moment, Alistair was confused.

“You mean when we couldn’t sleep?”

There was silence.

“I nodded. You couldn’t see,” Cullen admitted sheepishly.

“It was nothing important.”

“It kept you up at night. It was important.”

“I just… I thought about the arlessa. I used to hate her, and now I only pity her, but at the same time I’d like her to apologize for every awful thing she’s done to me. Sending me off to the monastery was one of the awful things, but because of that I met you, so in the end it brought me something good, but that was not her plan, so she doesn’t get credit for it. I’m rambling. I’m not making any sense.”

“That’s a lot of feelings, but I think I understand what you mean,” Cullen told him.

“There were moments when I wanted her to hurt, but I would never want it to happen like this, for it to affect a child who never did me any harm. That’s just my luck - the person I used to hate has something terrible happen to them, and I can’t even get any satisfaction from it.” His laugh somehow turned into a sigh. “I know I’ve said that I don’t care anymore about her or what happened, but I think I do. I won’t lose any more sleep over it, but seeing her, thinking about what she did, it bothered me.”

“That’s perfectly understandable. I think the farther you’re going to be from her, the better you’ll feel.”

“I think so too. Speaking of which, I’m almost certain we’ll have a long way to go tomorrow. Or today. Perhaps it’s already today. We should get some sleep.”

“Agreed. And… thank you. Again. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Alistair smiled in the darkness as his heart did a series of leaps in his chest. He only patted Cullen’s hand, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would say something terribly cheesy and far too revealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After re-reading the chapter before posting, I realized that at first it sounds like a classic "there's only one bed" plot line, but this is not that kind of story. It's one of my favorite tropes, but it unfortunately doesn't fit here. Also, I hate Isolde with a burning passion. Awful, awful woman.
> 
> I know I sound like a youtuber at the end of their video (like, comment, share, subscribe, hit the bell, sacrifice your firstborn in my honor!), but consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you've enjoyed the story.


	4. Chapter 4

As they were walking away from Redcliffe, headed towards the Frostback Mountains, Cullen was in a foul mood. He tried to cover it up, smiling in what was probably an unnatural way, since he didn’t want Alistair to catch on and ask him questions. He didn’t want to lie to his friend, but he also couldn’t tell him that he spoke to the arlessa, who turned out to be even worse than Cullen suspected. Part of him wanted to blame it on her Orlessian heritage, but deep down he knew that it was just her own awful character.

She wasn’t going to apologize. She seemed shocked that Cullen would even suggest such a thing. She did the right thing, for herself, for her family, for the whole arling, she claimed. Cullen tried to explain to her how she’s hurt Alistair, but it sounded like she was surprised that a lowborn bastard could have such sensitive feelings. The conversation lead nowhere, and it left Cullen angry.

How he wished he could have done something good for Alistair, given him the closure of an apology from the woman who ruined his childhood. But that was not to be. Perhaps he didn’t speak convincingly enough?, Cullen wondered. No, he decided at last, no orator extraordinaire would melt the arlessa’s cold heart. 

Now all he could do was try and be the best family for Alistair that he could. Because that was what they were - a family. Not brothers, not spouses, and yet a family.

And the rest of their companions were also a bit of a family. A dysfunctional, unconventional family, but a family nonetheless. He was glad Alistair had that, and that he was allowed to join in as well. They haven’t known him for a long time, but they already cared about him, as much as they were capable.

Traveling with the band of misfits was never boring, which Cullen appreciated. When his mind was idle, it turned to things he didn’t wish to remember, and so he stayed busy and engaged with everyone in the party, with the notable exception of Morrigan. They haven’t exchanged more than a handful of sentences, and he was glad to keep it that way. He deeply distrusted her and her magic, but she was yet to show any outward signs of being a threat, and so he kept watching her and not interacting.

Wynne was an entirely different matter. She was a mage and yet he found himself liking her. He didn’t want to, tried to keep his distance, but the woman was genuinely pleasant and well-meaning. They talked more and more, sitting around a campfire each evening. She helped him cook at times and he got in the habit of raising her tent for her.

That, along with what happened in Redcliff, made Cullen wonder which view of the world was correct - leniency towards mages, which during his days as the prisoner of demons and blood mages he decided was naive and dangerously stupid, or the absolute control and domination he conceived as the alternative.

Perhaps they were both wrong, he finally realized. Perhaps leaning in one direction would always cause trouble. Being too trusting was dangerous, but where would fear and hatred lead him? He was frightened to realize that Alistair thought him capable of suggesting a child be killed, and even more frightened to realize that perhaps he would’ve supported such a thing at one point. He didn’t want to be that person, he couldn’t let the demons win by making him as cruel as they were.

He was yet to decide how exactly he should act, but he was working on that, on figuring out the boundaries and safeguards, so as not to be defenceless but also not to turn into a tyrant.

Talking to Alistair about such matters helped. Just voicing his thoughts helped him to make them clearer. Alistair offered his own insights, and Cullen found that outside perspective to be rather illuminating.

Practically everything in his life was improved by Alistair’s presence. His good humor, his reassuring smiles, his easy jokes, the comforting touch of his hands… Oh, but the touch wasn’t just comforting, and that worried Cullen. As the weeks passed by and they moved further from the Circle, both in terms of physical distance and the time which has elapsed, the more he felt his attraction to his friend returning.

He had no idea what to do about that fact, and he couldn’t very well ask Alistair how to deal with it. He never wanted those thoughts - back when they lived in the monastery they were bad enough, but after what has happened to Cullen, they were unacceptable.

Alistair could not feel the same way about him, which held true ever since they were young. It was not right to desire someone and have the image of them doing some inappropriate things in one’s head, knowing that the other person would be horrified if they knew. Alistair would never find out, but it still felt like a violation.

What the demon did added another layer of pain to the whole experience. Resisting it was a struggle, and now any thought which could be considered a temptation made Cullen vaguely scared. Before, he felt a bit bad. After, he felt a deep worry that he was about to lose himself. The demons were dead, he kept telling himself, but there were others, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mage, or worse yet, one who would joyfully embrace them.

To help himself in this regard, Culle tried to limit the physical contact between himself and Alistair. Which was not easy. For one, a part of him, a part that wasn’t corrupted by the demon and tainted by his own inherent depravity, craved that touch - warm, pleasant, reassuring, a blanket against the world’s evils. For another, Alistair was a very affectionate person. When he was young he didn’t get many chances to show that, so once he could, he was making up for lost time, embracing people, clasping them on the shoulder, patting them on the back. Cullen saw him do that with almost all the members of their party. 

He didn’t want to be the one to rebuff him, to draw attention to his predicament, but he tried not to lean too close to Alistair, not to sit right by his side, to instead keep his distance in their tent. When they were first reunited, sleeping in close proximity was just about comfort - innocent and chasted. As time went by, it felt less so - Cullen could see all the possibilities in such an arrangement, and they both excited and frightened him. He wanted to avoid that temptation, but it was starting to get more and more difficult the closer to the mountains they got. The weather turned colder, the wind biting, especially at night.

The cold climate was what caused Cullen to wake up practically wrapped around Alistair, his face buried in his friend's neck. In that moment he panicked, his mind, still half asleep, telling him he needed to resist, to push away. And that was what he did. He pushed. Hard. Pushed and kicked until a pained gasp broke through the haze.

Instantly, Cullen was filled with shame and regret.

“I’m so sorry. Is it very bad?” he asked. He could barely see Alistair, moonlight not able to penetrate the thick walls of the tent too much.

“Sten is working you hard, that’s for sure. You’re getting stronger, even in your sleep.”

“Did I break anything? Maker, I’m so sorry, Alistair. I don’t know how to…”

“You’re not  _ that _ strong.” Alistair half laughed and half wheezed. “I’m alright. There may be a bruise or ten, but nothing too terrible. So what happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes. I mean no. Not really. Not… It’s complicated,” Cullen waffled.

“I... “ Alistair sighed, deep weariness in his voice. “I didn’t want to force you to talk about something you weren’t comfortable with, but I think we need to discuss this.”

Cullen felt a lump of fear forming in his throat.

“Perhaps I should just sleep outside…”

“In this cold? I don’t think so. You’ve been acting strangely for the past… I don’t know how long. Towards me. I have a feeling… I’m almost certain that it has to do with what happened, with the demon who pretended to be me. What did it do?”

Cullen’s heart was hammering wildly. He noticed. Alistair wasn’t as oblivious as Cullen thought, and he himself wasn’t as clever or subtle. Alistair noticed and was hurt, and he needed an answer. But what answer to give?

“I don’t think you want to know,” Cullen said at last, evasively.

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t’ve asked,” Alistair muttered, a note of irritation in his voice. “I’m sorry. That was mean. It’s just… I really do want to know. Talking about it is hard for you, that’s obvious, but you must know that whatever you tell me, it won’t change a thing for me.”

Cullen snorted, still able to appreciate the irony of the statement, even in the midst of his panic.

“It would change everything. Trust me. You do trust me, don’t you?” At first he thought it was a statement, but then realized he really needed reassurance in that regard.

“I do. But I feel like  _ you _ don’t trust  _ me _ .”

That was a fair point, but Cullen didn’t want to concede it. 

“Alistair…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. It ended up a broken plea. 

“This thing, whatever it is, is eating at you, it’s stopping you from moving forward. You’ve been doing so much better for a while, you’ve been having less nightmares, you didn’t seem so tense, but now… What is it? Let me help you.”

Cullen wanted to say it, suddenly the words were at the tip of his tongue, ready to burst forth from his mouth. But he couldn’t.

“This was the demon’s work. I won’t judge you for what it did when pretending to be me.”

“You should!” Cullen all but shouted, then lowered his voice, not wishing to wake their companions. “The demon reached into my mind and pulled… things from it.”

He was so close to telling Alistair everything. Stopping himself was both a relief and a failure.

“It’s a demon. It twisted your thoughts. That’s what they do.”

It did. It pushed at the boundaries of what Cullen could have imagine, offered things he would never consider. But underneath it all was the truth - his love, his desire.

“You know I’m right,” Alistair continued, when Cullen didn’t respond. “You can’t let it win by protecting its secrets. You will feel better when you stop holding it in.”

Cullen felt the truth of that statement deep in his bones. Whatever was going to happen, he had to say it, to unburden himself. But what words to use?

“The demon… You know what kind of demon it was,” he started.

“A desire demon,” Alistair responded without hesitation, simply, as if the word had no indecent connotations, as if the demon offered pies and snuggly puppies.

“Yes. And that never gave you pause?”

“Not really. I don’t know much about demons, but I suppose you can desire many things, and the demon can turn that desire against you in any manner.”

At this point Cullen was more frustrated than scared. He was wrong before. Alistair  _ was _ oblivious. Was he going to make Cullen say it out loud?

“I… You…” Cullen halted. “You… I…” He gestured between them. “I wanted… I desired… Maker, please don’t hate me too much. I desired… you. In the sense of… desiring.”

There. It was out. Cullen felt like vomiting in sheer terror. For a split second he feared Alistair would still not understand his meaning, but clearly he did. Cullen was prepared for his friend to be surprised, which he clearly was, but he wasn’t prepared for Alistair to grin broadly. Was he about to laugh at the absurdity of the situation?

“Maker, we’ve been such idiots,” he said, which didn’t serve to ease Cullen’s nerves. “I’ve been in love with you for so long. That is what you mean? Or did you just…”

Cullen wasn’t sure what he was feeling - relief, joy, more fear?

“I didn’t  _ just _ . It was never  _ just _ with you. I love you.”

The smile on Alistair’s face made him forget everything for a moment. Even in the near darkness that smile was radiant. Has Alistair ever smiled at him in that exact way? It was beautiful.

“I love you too. So much.” Suddenly the smile slipped from Alistair’s face. “And the demon used that. It made me do… things. And now you don’t want that. Being close to me, it’s bad, wrong, after it…”

“I want… And I don’t want to want. Does that make sense? It’s like my mind is trying to protect me, because if I don’t want, then that want can’t be used against me. I would want to be able to just want.” Cullen laughed. “This is gibberish.”

“No. It makes sense.”

“I never thought you’d feel the same way and that was somehow... safer? And it also wasn’t, because I knew… I thought you wouldn’t want me to think such thoughts. Would you?”

“Would I want you to think about me in… as a… Yes. I would. If that helps. I want to help. What will help you?”

“I don’t know. Hearing you say that, I’m happy, I feel some of the guilt lessening, but I’m also scared,” Cullen confessed.

“That’s the last thing I want to make you feel. I want you to feel safe with me. I’ll never do anything you wouldn’t want me to.”

“I know, I know. You’re not that thing. You’re you. You’re my you.” Cullen smiled at his own words, enjoying how proprietary they sounded.

“I am. I’ll always be. I was yours the moment you offered me your hand and helped me up after knocking me to my back during practice. You gave me this smile, this odd little smile, like you were sorry, but also proud of yourself.”

“That long?”

“Yes. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s adorable.” Now Cullen was grinning. They were boys back then. Things were simple. He’d never guess this was where they were going to end up years later.

“When did you know?” Alistair asked.

Cullen thought about that for a moment.

“I think it was when my mother send me a bag of cookies, and my first thought was of sharing them with you. It’s stupid, but I knew you were very important to me when I wanted to give you something I always tried to keep to myself. I don’t think I knew it was love, but I probably felt it.”

Emboldened, Cullen reached out, and found Alistair’s hand.

“So what do you want to do about it?” Alistair asked, twining their fingers together.

“I want to be normal, to be someone who will make you happy. And don’t say that I make you happy. I love you, but I can’t give you… I’m not ready.”

“That’s alright.”

“No, it isn’t!” Cullen was getting angry at himself on Alistair's behalf. “You deserve someone who will kiss you and touch you, and not punch you in the night.”

“I think that will get better with time. The punching, that is. The rest would be nice, and maybe you’ll be ready one day, but just knowing that you feel the same as I do is more than I ever thought I was going to get in my life. It’s a blessing.”

Cullen felt like crying - partially because Alistair’s words touched him, and partially out of grief and anger at himself, at the situation he was in.

“Will I be enough?” he asked in a whisper.

“You’re more than enough. I mean, not as in too much. You’re the man I love, and I can tell you that, and you can say it back, and if you’ll let me, I’ll be one of those terrible people who say it all the time. You’ll get tired of hearing it, and our friends will want to kill me.”

“That’s a risk you’re willing to take?”

“Yes.”

“Then do.”

“Soooo. We’re… a thing? Not just friends… A thing.”

“A couple.”

“Ser Dictionary strikes again.”

Cullen laughed.

“I want you,” he said. “I want to want without fear. I’ll get there.”

“There’s no rush,” Alistair assured. “Do what feels right. I want you and whenever you feel like it… Wait - does that make you uncomfortable? Me saying that.”

“No. Not really. The demon… it was more forward. I know it’s you when you speak like that.”

“For once me being an awkward idiot who doesn’t know how to say things is a good thing.”

“You’re not an…” Cullen hated when Alistair spoke of himself in that manner, even in jest. He’s been working on making him stop for years. He’s never had much success, but he wasn’t giving up.

“Yes, I’m brilliant.” Alistair flashed him a grin. “Just tell me if I say or do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Alright.”

“So, holding hands is fine?”

“Yes.”

“And sleeping? We can get an extra blanket if you want to keep your distance.”

“I always liked being close to you, but if you’re afraid…”

“I’ll take my chances. I feel like after what you’ve said, your mind will be more at ease, and so will your arms. And legs.”

“You’re a gambler.”

“I like my odds.”

Alistair gently tugged on Cullen’s hand, and they settled down.

“Can I hold you?” Cullen asked. That felt safer, like he was in control.

“Of course.”

They settled in, Cullen’s arm draped over Alistair’s side. It was warm and comforting and honest, if an embrace could be honest. Everything wasn’t suddenly fixed, but at the same time Cullen felt stronger. Maybe he was lucky after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was basically the starting point for this story. I was in a tram and I had this image of them in a tent, confessing their feelings, after Alistair rescued Cullen. I was pretty annoyed with myself because I already had too many ideas, and I didn't need another one, but it just wouldn't let me be.
> 
> A comment or kudos would be super nice.


	5. Chapter 5

Seeing the urn which contained the ashes of Andraste would no doubt be the most profound experience of most people’s life. For Alistair it was a Thursday. Possibly a Friday. He wasn’t sure - with the trek, the cultists, and the dragon it took quite a while, and they reached the urn somewhere in the dead of night.

No, the most profound experience in Alistair’s life was when Cullen told him he loved him. And each subsequent time felt nearly as moving as the first. Cullen  _ loved _ him. Cullen loved  _ him _ .  _ Cullen _ loved him.

It would be hard to believe, if he didn’t hear it so often. If he didn’t  _ feel _ it so often. It wasn’t that much has changed between them - they still marched together, playing silly games to pass the time, they still slept in the same tent, they still teased each other about small things. It was just that all those ordinary things they always did were now put in a different light, felt more intimate.

Alistair thought it was going to take him a while to get used to the new phase of their relationship, but it was almost instantaneous. Perhaps it was that he’s loved Cullen for so long, that finally being able to show it felt natural, right.

He wondered if their companions were going to notice anything. They did. All of them. And they were happy for Alistair and Cullen. 

Morrigan was obviously rolling her eyes and sighing in a dramatic fashion, but all things considered, it was a mild reaction from the apostate. Cousland was a good influence on her. What he saw in her, Alistair was never going to understand, but at least her being in love made her a tiny bit less snide.

Cousland himself was rather self-satisfied. “I told you so, I told you so, I was so right!” was what he chanted after seeing him and Cullen strolling through a forest holding hands. Alistair couldn’t even be mad at him, only managing a halfhearted shake of the head.

Leliana and Wynne were positively delighted. Neither of them said it out loud, but Alistair could tell they both thought the development was inevitable. Sten almost lifted the corners of his mouth in their general direction, which Alistair decided was as close to smiling as the qunari was capable of. 

Somehow it was Zevran’s reaction Alistair worried about most. The assassin was very open about himself and his many exploits, and Alistair was afraid he was going to make some inappropriate comments, or Maker forbid, suggestions. Alistair had to brace himself, and talk to Zevran first, to ask that he do no such thing. Cullen would’ve been deeply uncomfortable with that, there was no doubt. The assassin proved surprisingly understanding, and Alistair was very grateful for that.

For once it looked like things were going to be falling into place. On the ‘fighting the Blight’ front they had the help of mages and Templars, and the sacred ashes which were going to save arl Eamon, and they were about to go into the Brecilian Forest to recruit the Dalish. On his personal side of the equation, he was happily in love and surrounded by people he grew to call friends (excluding Morrigan, of course, but that almost went without saying).

The only thing which was causing Alistair worry, were the moments when Cullen tried to initiate contact between them, and then shrunk back, looking disappointed in himself. It didn’t matter how many times Alistair told him that it was alright - Cullen was still displeased. But perhaps what Alistair said was not all that mattered - perhaps Cullen wanted for them to get closer, and his inability to have a more physical relationship was causing him distress. 

It would be a lie if Alistair were to say that he didn’t wish to kiss Cullen or feel his bare skin under his fingers, but he completely accepted the situation. Being with Cullen in this rather chaste way was still more than he could’ve ever dreamed of happening.

At times he wondered what would’ve happened if they weren't so shy back in the monastery, if one of them would’ve said something, done something. Would he have staid and became a Templar? Would Cullen have left with him? Could the whole disaster have been avoided? He liked the thought of them both becoming Wardens best, and that was why he tried not to indulge in that particular fantasy. He had to be grateful for what they had. There was no way to turn back time, and regrets didn’t help.

All things considered, they were dealing with the situation they’ve found themselves in rather well. Alistair couldn’t even imagine what the whole ordeal must have been like for Cullen, and how difficult it was to cope with the aftermath. Alistair’s face was also the face the demon who tortured Cullen used. How was Cullen to see his face and not think of what he had to endure? He already made tremendous strides, and Alistair was even more in awe of him that usually.

In an attempt to help a bit, Alistair tried to alter his appearance. When they lived in the monastery, their hair had to be rather short, and Alistair has kept it that way after leaving, for the sake of practicality, but now he started growing it out. He also started shaving less often, leaving some stubble on his cheeks. At first he was worried that he was going to look stupid, but soon found that Cullen appreciated his efforts. He would smile as he ran his fingers through Alistair’s lengthening hair as they lay in their tent, and that small gesture filled Alistair with hope.

One night, halfway between the Frostback Mountains and the Brecilian Forest, they’ve found themselves laying face to face, the light of the dying fire illuminating them. Alistair was about to suggest they go to sleep, but stopped when Cullen reached out a hand towards his face. He cupped his jaw, and swiped a thumb over the stubble on his cheek, smiling. Alistair’s eyes fell closed, and when he opened them again, Cullen’s face was inching closer towards his. He held his breath, remaining perfectly motionless, afraid of somehow scaring Cullen away.

He couldn’t quite believe it was really happening when Cullen’s lips touched his. It was short and gentle, and so very good.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, still so close that their noses almost touched.

That question confused Alistair.

“Yes. Perfect. Why do you ask?”

“You’re just so… rigid.”

“Oh.” Alistair chuckled. “I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

Cullen shook his head.

“I appreciate the thought, but you don’t need to just lay there. You can kiss me back. If you want to.”

“I can?” Alistair beamed at him.

“I’d like that.”

Alistair felt like his smile was about to split his face in two.

“So?” Cullen prompted.

“So kiss me again so I can kiss you ba…”

He wasn’t allowed to finish that sentence, because Cullen was kissing him, and there was passion in the gesture. It wasn’t just a press of lips. They were moving against each other, their noses bumping once, before they understood what to do. Without thinking about it, Alistair reached out to tangle his finger’s in Cullen’s hair, and heard the faintes moan reverberating against his lips. That was a good sign, so he run his fingers against Cullen’s scalp, earning himself another sound. He wanted to hear it again and again.

He would’ve worked on pulling another moan out of Cullen’s throat, but now it was Cullen making him slightly incoherent, running his tongue over Alistair’s lips. On pure instinct, Alistair parted his lips, and then Cullen’s tongue was inside it, touching his own, and Alistair was fairly sure he made some noise at that. Maker, this was happening and it was better than he could’ve imagined.

Regaining some of his senses, he kissed Cullen back, pulling on his hair lightly, tilting his head to his liking. For a fraction of a moment he worried that he did something wrong, because Cullen was pulling back, but as it turned out it was only a strategic retreat. Cullen turned Alistair over on his back and grinned down on him, before diving in again, kissing him with redoubled vigour, knocking the breath out of him.

That was exactly the position Alistair wanted to be in - under Cullen, kissed to within an inch of his life. He wanted to pull Cullen closer, to feel his entire body resting on his own, pressing him down, rubbing against his quickly hardening cock, but even with most of his mind not functioning, he knew it was not a good idea to initiate anything of that sort. If Cullen wanted it, if he were ready, he would do it himself, but instead he lay slightly to the side, allowing only parts of their chests to meet, with absolutely no contact between their lower halves.

They weren’t doing everything they could be, but it still felt incredible. Alistair had one hand in Cullen’s hair, the other tracing the contours of the muscles of his arms and back, and their mouths were so perfectly connected. When Cullen pulled away again, only to tug on Alistair's bottom lip with his teeth, Alistair let out a highly embarrassing sound. Cullen somehow looked both smug and slightly embarrassed, which was a look only he could manage. Alistair found it oddly attractive, so he lifted his head up to capture Cullen’s mouth in another kiss.

How long that lasted, Alistair could not tell, but there was almost no light when at last Cullen rested his forehead against Alistair’s.

“We have to stop. Get some sleep.” Cullen’s words were a breath on Alistair's face.

“Of course you are the responsible one.” Alistair laughed. “But if you ever want to continue…”

“Tomorrow,” Cullen responded without thought, sliding down to rest his head on Alistair’s chest.

“Really?” Alistair could hardly believe his luck.

“Unless you don’t…”

“Don’t be absurd. I want to,” Alistair interrupted, settling in, an arm loosely draped over Cullen’s side.

“I’m not ready for more, but this… I’d like more of this,” Cullen explained.

“So do I.” Alistair was about to wish him a good night, before a thought occurred to him. “Was it my rugged new facial hair?”

Cullen laughed quietly.

“Partially. I was getting better, I was able not to think about what happened for longer periods of time, and your new appearance did help.”

“I can grow it out even longer. I can have a beard to my feet if it will help.”

“I wouldn’t want you to trip over it. In all honesty, I think you look good the way you are. Very good.” Cullen’s voice was somehow deeper than usually. It wasn’t helping to make Alistair’s erection go away, but Alistair didn’t mind terribly.

“If I knew it’d help, I would’ve done it much sooner,” he said.

“That was my fault for not telling you what was really bothering me,” Cullen countered.

“Let’s say it’s no one’s fault,” Alistair suggested.

“I can live with that. Let’s sleep.”

Cullen tilted his head up and pressed a quick kiss to Alistair’s lips. From now on he was going to be kissed goodnight by the man he loved, Alistair realized. He wasn’t sure if it was his still hard cock or the fluttering in his heart that kept him up longer, but it was alright either way.

* * *

The resounding success they’ve achieved in the Brecilian Forest, curing the werewolves and recruiting the Dalish, was the final push Cullen needed to make his decision. He was going to become a Warden.

The thought was planted in his mind that first night when Alistair told him that he was leaving the tower with Warden Cousland’s party. Cullen returned to the idea from time to time. For years he thought that being a Templar was his destiny. He’s committed himself to the path, and turning from it would seem a betrayal, but now he saw things differently.

Wardens were an extremely important organization. At no time was it more evident than the present. The Blight was upon Ferelden and no other order could stand against it. Despite the fact that Cousland and Alistair were the last surviving Wardens in the kingdom, they rose to the challenge, working tirelessly to make up for their decimated numbers. They’ve accomplished amazing feats in mere months, saving lifes and gaining support of groups which before were at odds. They lifted a curse and turned werewolves human, all without unnecessary bloodshed. That alone was the stuff of heroic poems.

Cousland and Alistair exemplified the best virtues of the organization they’ve been a part of for the briefest time before the impossible task of saving their homeland fell to them alone. They were what every Warden should aspire to be, and Wardens were what every order should aspire to be. Cullen wanted to be a part of that, if they allowed it, or more specifically, if Cousland allowed it (he was fairly certain that Alistair was already on board with the idea). Which was what Cullen wanted to discuss when he asked them to meet him outside of the camp on the way to the Deep Roads.

“You’ve lured us away from our companions and into a forest - what do you intend to do?” Alistair asked.

Cullen took a deep breath. He had a little speech prepared for them.

“Alistair, you’ve known me for years, you know what I’m capable of. I think you believe me to be better than I am, so it’s not you that I’m trying to convince,” he started, and pressed on, despite Alistair’s slightly confused expression. “Warden Cousland, Fergus, we’ve met under less than ideal circumstances. I haven’t been at my best. Far from it. Back then you gave me a chance, despite everything, and I hope I haven’t let you down, I hope I’ve lived up to the promises Alistair no doubt made you. I hope I proved my worth. I’m getting better with each day, and I will continue to work on myself. I can be an asset to you. I offer you my sword, my mind and my devotion. I want to join you. I want to become a Warden.”

Cullen looked from Alistair to Cousland, and saw how similar their expressions were - first came realization, then joy, and then something which wasn’t quite sadness. Were they rejecting him?

“It’s… not that simple. It’s not just reciting a vow,” Cousland explained slowly.

“If there’s a test of valor, some trial, I’ll be glad to undertake it. I hope you understand that I’m not making this decision lightly. I am a Templar, and perhaps me changing allegiances like that makes me less worthy of trust…”

“That’s not it at all. I think you’re very trustworthy, and you’d make an exceptional Warden,” Cousland assured him.

“What is it then?” Cullen demanded, turning to Alistair, who until that point remained uncharacteristically silent.

“To become a Warden you must undergo the Joining, drink darkspawn blood. It makes us immune to the taint, allows us to sense it in the darkspawn, but it also…” Alistair took a long shuddering breath. “Not everyone makes it.”

That certainly was new information. Cullen never considered such a thing. How could he?

“You both survived,” he said, and knew he sounded foolish before he finished.

“We did, but one of the men who was supposed to join at the same time as I... didn’t. The other tried to fight Duncan and also perished,” Cousland told him, his voice sombre. “And there’s more. Warden’s don’t live to be old and grey. It doesn’t happen at the same time for all of us, but eventually we hear the Calling, telling us we’re close to the end, which is when we go to the Deep Roads, to take as many of those bastards with us as we can.” Cullen could only gape in surprise at the words. “I know this is new to you. Take your time thinking it over. I’d be proud to call you brother, but I will respect you no less if you continue to fight with us as a Templar.” 

“I appreciate you saying that.”

Cousland nodded, and clasped Cullen’s shoulder, before leaving him and Alistair.

“I’m sorry,” were Alistair’s words after they were alone.

“For what?” Cullen asked, striding to a nearby tree and sliding down to the ground and leaning heavily against the trunk.

“I… I told you how when this is over I’ll become a Templar or you become a Warden, and I didn’t explain any of that.” Alistair joined him by the tree. “I didn’t even think to tell you. I never thought you’d considered it so seriously. Or so soon. But that’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t give you even a hint that I was thinking of it.”

“Still, I should’ve explained, I should’ve…”

Cullen took his hand.

“It happened. Now I know. And I still want to do it.”

“You do?” Alistair sounded taken aback.

“Yes. I should be afraid, I think, but I’m not. I was surprised to learn about it all, but it doesn’t change anything. This is the path for me.”

“I dreamed of hearing you say that, but now that you did… I am afraid,” Alistair confessed.

“You saw those men die.” 

Alistair nodded. 

“I won’t die. I’m not leaving you.”

Alistair made a noncommittal sigh.

“Do you want to know why I’m not afraid?”

Alistair nodded again.

“I always wanted a purpose. I wanted to help. Becoming a Templar seemed the perfect way to achieve that. Still, as I was about to take my vows, I was not at peace. I wandered if I made the right choice. Don’t get me wrong, I think Templars perform a vital service. Their mission is holy. But was it the one for me? Before meeting you I knew nothing of Wardens. Being a Templar was the only choice and in my mind I’ve committed myself to it. I was not able to turn back. Now I can. I was given another chance. Another chance at life, with you, and I am not afraid to take it. I can do even greater things as a Warden then I did as a Templar. There are hundreds of Templars in Ferelden, and only two of you. I can make a difference. I think the Maker saved me back in the tower to give me that chance. He send you to help me, and he send me to help you in turn.”

“You really believe that?”

“Absolutely. I wondered why I was left alive, and then it came to me - I’m to serve, but in a different way than before. The Maker wouldn’t save me only to let me die during the Joining. And he wouldn’t tear us apart right after bringing us back together. We can do great things. Together. And we’ll do them as Wardens. Let’s face it, you would make an awful Templar.”

Alistair laughed.

“I’d like to be offended, but I can’t. You’re right. I never wanted that. But I don’t want you to…”

Cullen didn’t let him finish.

“I’m not doing this just for you. I want it. For myself. I’d do it even without you here. Being with you is only an added benefit.”

“I’m an ‘added benefit’ now, am I?”

Cullen nudged him with his shoulder.

“I love you, my added benefit. And I know that after being reunited, we would’ve found a way to be together even as a Warden and Templar. It’s not about that. I see a new path before me. I want to become a Warden,” Cullen explained. He hoped Alistair understood.

“And the Calling? That doesn’t scare you? It scares me at times,” Alistair admitted.

“Lyrium takes our memories as we age, it changes us. No Templar has a long and comfortable life. I’ll be exchanging one bad ending for another.”

“Why do all those noble pursuits have such shitty things attached to them?”

Cullen rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Beats me. But we’ll make the time we have count, and when we go, we go together.”

Alistair squeezed his hand.

“Together,” he echoed. “And now let’s get back to camp together. We’ll tell Cousland, and after we get some blood, we’ll have your Joining.”

“So you’re fine with it?” Cullen asked, getting up, and offering Alistair a hand.

“Am I no longer afraid for you, you mean? No, not entirely. But I accept your choice. And I have faith in you. If I made it through, then you will as well. You’ve always been better than me at…”

Cullen kissed him. He finally could do that in order to shut him up, and he was going to take full advantage of that fact.

“Alright. Point taken. I’m great. You’re great. Everything will be great.” Alistair grinned at him.

At that Cullen kissed him again. This time not to stop him, but to reward him. He felt rough bark digging into his back through his shirt as Alistair pressed him into a tree. Cullen was going to reverse their positions in a moment, but for the time being he allowed Alistair to do as he pleased.

They reached the camp long after everyone else was in their tents, so informing Cousland of Cullen’s decision had to wait till the morrow.

When he found out, the other Warden was very pleased. Cullen was glad to be accepted so readily. He deeply respected the young man who carried such a heavy burden with apparent ease, and his good opinion of Cullen mattered greatly.

It just so happened that a day later they came upon a band of darkspawn. They didn’t prove a great challenge, and Cullen felled four. At Cousland’s instruction he collected the blood of one of the beasts into a small vial. It felt strange to hold his own destiny in his hand in the form of a tiny bottle with dark and foul smelling liquid.

“Tonight?” he asked Alistair, as they were moving on.

“If you want to.” Alistair made an effort not to appear overly scared, that was obvious, but equally obvious was that he was not at ease.

“I will be alright,” Cullen assured.

“Naturally. Of course. Certainly.”

“If you say ‘indubitably’, I will start to worry that you’re overcompensating,” Cullen joked. 

“Yes, well, it’s not every day that the man you love goes through a life threatening ritual.” Alistair shrugged. “Feelings are stupid. I  _ know _ you will survive, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

“I understand.”

There was nothing more Cullen could say, since words weren’t going to help, so he only took Alistair’s hand.

As they marched forward, Cullen searched his own feelings, trying to see if he feared the Joining on some deep level, but found that he truly didn’t. After his experiences in the tower, after surviving, he had a different outlook on life. It wasn’t that he didn’t fear death anymore or thought himself impervious to harm. When they fought darkspawn, demons, cultists or the dragon in the Frostback Mountains, he acted with appropriate caution, fully aware of his own mortality. 

When it came to the Joining, on the other hand, he had no fear. The Maker showed him this new path. Out of all the Grey Wardens at Ostragar, only two survived, and one of them was the man Cullen loved. That said something by itself, but then those same Grey Wardens came to Cullen’s rescue in his darkest hour. That was the clearest possible sign. Cullen was to be a Warden. The Joining was only a formality.

And that formality was to take place that evening, after they’ve set up camp. No outsiders were allowed to witness the ceremony, so their companions could only wish Cullen well. They didn’t know exactly what the ritual entailed, but had enough information to be worried. 

It was oddly touching to realize just how much they cared. Even Sten, who seemed incapable of strong emotions, and Morrigan, who possessed strong emotions, but mostly negative ones, appeared somewhat moved, saying a few encouraging words, their voices slightly strained. Zevran tried to cover his worry with bravado, but he patted Cullen’s arm for far too long, as if not willing to let him go. Leliana and Wynne were the most concerned, and as they embraced him in turn, he felt them shaking slightly.

Cousland allowed Cullen and Alistair to first go alone to the old elven ruin located nearby, where the ceremony was to take place, so that they could speak freely.

The moss covered crumbling stones with partially destroyed murals looked rather mysterious, especially under the light of the full moon. It all felt appropriate - starting a new life in the ruins of what once was.

They put two torches in the ancien sconces, and stood together for a moment.

“This isn’t a goodbye,” Cullen stated after a moment.

“Of course not. Of course.” Alistair nodded. “It’s fine. Fiiine. It’s…”

Cullen was about to stop his rambling with a kiss, but apparently Alistair learned that trick himself, taking a step forward and all but throwing himself on Cullen. There was desperation in his kiss, in the way he nearly crushed Cullen’s ribs with his embrace, but Cullen didn’t mind. He returned the gesture, trying to fill it with all of his love for the other man, hoping to somehow placate him.

He wasn’t sure how long they would’ve stay like that if they weren’t stopped by Cousland.

“Are you two ready?” the Warden called out from some distance.

“Yes, let’s start,” Cullen shouted back, after breaking apart from Alistair, who looked a bit disappointed. Cullen only clasped his shoulder and gave him a smile. There was no point in prolonging this moment filled with uncertainty and unpleasant anticipation - better to get it over with quickly.

Cousland strode in and offered a smile, which was no doubt supposed to be reassuring, but didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“We’ll be brothers in no time,” the Warden said, offering Cullen the vial with blood, which he earlier gave to the mages, who needed to prepare it. 

Cullen was a bit uneasy with the idea the mages’ involvement, but knew it couldn’t be help. At the same time he was somewhat proud of himself - a few weeks earlier, he would’ve balked at the idea of drinking anything the mages touched, but now he felt confident enough to do so. He was better, more himself.

“Alistair, would you say the words?” Cousland asked, when Cullen took the vial and uncorked it.

Alistair smiled tightly and nodded.

“Join us brothers and sisters,” he started. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty which cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.”

It sounded solemn, but Cullen was ready. He touched the vial to his lips and drank.

A pain started in his mouth, then his throat, moving to his stomach, then blooming inside his head. A searing pain, a burning pain. The strength of it forced Cullen to his knees.

“From this moment on, you are a Grey Warden,” Alistair told him, before Cullen lost consciousness.

He saw him. The archdemon, a giant black dragon, larger and more frightening than anything Cullen could’ve ever imagined. It roared, and Cullen not only heard the sound, but also felt it, in his bones, in his gut, all over. Something tightened in him, and it felt like a chain, like something binding him to the demon, making Cullen aware of it, despite the distance separating them. 

He felt terrified and repulsed, but forced himself to look fully at the demon, to memorize everything about it. ‘Know thy enemy’ all the strategy books advised. He was going to know the demon and its’ ilk, and he was going to end it.

With that, Cullen felt himself returning from the place of dark dreams into reality. He was on his back on the ground. He forced his eyes open and saw Alistair hovering above him.

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” Alistair exclaimed, falling on Cullen, nearly smothering him.

“I told you so,” Cullen croaked out. His throat still burned, and he felt oddly heavy, but he was alive.

Alistair kissed his lips urgently.

“I just drunk darkspawn blood,” Cullen told him, trying to turn his head to the side.

“I don’t care,” Alistair insisted, kissing him again.

Somewhere to the side, Cousland laughed.

“Cullen makes a good point. Perhaps let him wash the taste out of his mouth with some ale in the camp.”

Alistair sighed dramatically.

“I suppose I can allow it,” he decided, getting up, offering Cullen a hand and not letting it go.

“Wise decision, Warden Alistair. I think we’ve all earned ourselves a bit of drunkenness. What do you say, Warden Cullen?”

There was something thrilling in being addressed in such a manner, and Cullen grinned.

“Warden Fergus, I think we’ve earned ourselves more than a bit of drunkenness. I think we’ve earned ourselves a lot of drunkenness.”

“Here here!” Cousland exclaimed, as they walked back to the camp.

A lot of drunkenness was exactly what ensued once they’ve reached it. Their companions already had plenty of food and ale prepared, and toasted Cullen’s successful Joining. Cullen couldn’t help marveling at how different it was from his Templar initiation. That one was somber, followed by a small meal. There was no revelry, no joy. This, in contrast, felt right.

He smiled fondly at Alistair, whose head was resting on his shoulder. That, that was what felt the most right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a fan of the Templar order as a whole. Cullen leaving it before Inquisition starts is absolutely great, in my opinion, but I really like the idea of him being a Warden. He strikes me as someone who needs a purpose, and he can do so much better than the Templars - he just needs an opportunity.
> 
> Next chapter, there'll be some smut.
> 
> Thanks for reading, despite my abysmal posting schedule. If you're enjoying this story, drop me a line or click that kudos button. It'd mean a lot to me.


	6. Chapter 6

Ferelden was rather wonderous, Cullen decided. At the moment it was overrun with darkspawn, but once they’ve eradicated them, it would return to its full glory, and it would be a sight to behold. 

Cullen always felt a fondness for his homeland, but when he was younger, it was a feeling born of something akin to a sense of duty. He felt like he had to love the land where he lived. Now that he was actually permitted to travel it, he grew to love it for its natural beauty.

There were so many awe inspiring sights he never imagined laid within his reach - the vast fields, the winding rivers, the unfathomably deep lakes, the hidden ruins, the cold and stark beauty of the Frostback mountains, the lush green of the Brecilian forest, and now the imposing majesty of Orzammar.

That was the last stop they had to make before Denerim, before the final battle, the final triumph. It wasn’t as if they were taking a leisurely jaunt through the kingdom, but Cullen was determined to enjoy the places they visited nonetheless.

At first he was worried that being underground would make him uneasy, but his first impression of Orzammar was very favourable. Just like the elven ruins of old, the dwarven style of architecture and decoration was vastly different from what he knew, and he appreciated that.

He had no patience for politics, so he gladly allowed Cousland to do all the talking with the dwarven nobility, while he admired his surroundings, and when the time came, unsheathed his sword to fight their new enemies.

They’ve already uncovered the real estate scam perpetrated by lord Pyral Harrowmont and dealt with the Carta. With two successes under their belt, they were well on their way to securing the support they needed.

Soon they were going to have to go down into the Deep Roads for their final, no doubt most difficult task - to find paragon Branka and get the crown for the new king. That was certainly going to be more nerve wracking than anything they’ve experienced in Orzamar, but Cullen decided not to think of that for the moment, instead spending time with his companions, sampling dwarven spirits, browsing the fine wares at the market and even helping to buy Leliana a nug. He found the little creature somewhat absurd with its hairless body and strange, bead-like eyes, but the archer was positively delighted with it, making high-pitched noises, and that was all that mattered.

They were not swimming in coins, and yet Cousland made it a point to order a proper set of Grey Warden armour for Cullen. It was a practical decision, to be sure, and yet it touched Cullen on an emotional level. He knew that he was a part of the organization from the moment of the Joining, but there was nothing quite like wearing the Grey Wardens’ colours and sigil to truly make him feel included. He wore the new armour with pride, honoured to serve such a noble cause. It also didn’t hurt that it looked rather elegant and simple, unlike the Templar armour with what he now had to concede was a cumbersome skirt.

Another pleasant aspect of being in Orzamar, was at last not sleeping in tents. At first Cullen found tents novel and exciting, but then he had to admit that he missed having a bed. The ones in the Orzammar tavern were short and made of stone, but the party managed to gather some additional pillows and bedding, and they became almost comfortable.

What Cullen appreciated most about staying in the tavern, was privacy. He knew that no-one was trying to eavesdrop on him and Alistair, but he also knew that one didn’t have to try in order to hear things in tents. Fergus and Morrigan certainly enjoyed each-other’s company, which was what Cullen had learned when he woke up from a nightmare one night. His stirring woke Alistair in turn, and in the near dark they shared a horrified expression.

“I think I would have prefered to continue with the nightmare,” Cullen whispered.

“Yes, one archdemon dream please. It’s better than this waking terror,” Alistair agreed.

They laughed about it, but it proved a bit difficult to fall back asleep.

Cullen didn’t wish to provide their companions with the same experience, and so he refrained from initiating anything more than kissing with Alistair, which proved rather difficult, since at last he was able to feel desire again. He wasn’t certain when it happened or what caused it - the passage of time, Alistair's new appearance or perhaps Cullen becoming a Warden, but his carnal urges stopped being frightening. What remained was a slight worry that he wouldn’t perform adequately in an intimate situation, but that, Cullen suspected, was natural for any inexperienced person. It was a cruel twist of fate that now that his body and mind were in agreement, outside circumstances prevented him from acting on his needs.

That was the case until they reached Orzammar. The thick stone walls were almost completely soundproof. Cullen wasn’t going to waste that opportunity, especially since his and Alistair’s room had one large bed. He didn’t know if it was there completely by accident, or if Fergus, who talked to the proprietor, arranged it that way. Cullen wasn’t going to ask.

As they helped each-other out of their respective armour, which by now has become their routine, Cullen wondered how to broach the subject. He was fairly certain that Alistair wanted him, and yet he was still a bit hesitant. He didn’t wish to appear too forward and crass, and yet he knew that he was going to have to be the one who initiated things. Alistair was infinitely patient with him, and he’d never start anything, for fear of making Cullen uncomfortable. The sentiment was definitely appreciated, but at the moment it made things somewhat difficult.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, carefully putting the last piece of Cullen’s armour away.

“Yes. I’m fine. Why do you ask?” Cullen rotated his shoulders, enjoying the lightness he felt after being rid of the heavy metal.

“You seem… I don’t know… tense. And far away.” There was worry on Alistair’s face, and Cullen was touched for a millionth time by his concern.

“It’s nothing bad. It’s…” Cullen laughed, suddenly realizing that they were having almost the same exchange as the one before their first kiss. This was a moment before another first time - now it was undeniable. “We’re alone. There’s a bed. No-one can hear us. I was thinking… Maybe you’d like too…” 

He didn’t know how to finish that sentence, but luckily he didn’t have to. Alistair took the hint. There was no worry maring his features. Instead, there was a huge grin.

“I’d love to,” Alistair told him, before pulling him in for a kiss.

Cullen gave himself over to that kiss completely. There were no thoughts in his mind, only a haze of pleasure as Alistair’s tongue swept into his mouth, and his hand on Cullen’s back brought their chests together. Without a second thought, Cullen placed his palm on Alistair’s lower back, and now there was no space between them, so when Alistair moved against him, Cullen felt his hardening cock against his own.

“Maker.” The strength of his feeling forced him to break the kiss. Before Alistair could voice some kind of worry, Cullen thrust against him, and they both moaned.

As if on cue, they started moving together, their mouths connecting again and their lower bodies finding a maddening rhythm. It was more intense than Cullen would’ve imagined. It’s been so long since he felt such pleasure. When was the last time he’s even…? 

Alistair pressed his fingers into the back of Cullen’s head, causing him to lose his train of thought. Another thrust, another moan from Alistair, another kiss and he was absurdly close. That was when his mind started working properly again, and protested. This was not how it was supposed to go. Cullen thought of that moment often, and it never ended with him finishing in his own breeches.

“Can we move it to the bed?” he asked, parting from Alistair.

The other man looked a bit dazed. His eyes were unfocused and his lips parted on an unspoken question.

“Yes,” he finally agreed, taking a step back, then another, and another, before quite gracelessly stumbling backwards when his legs hit the end of the bed. “I’m fine!” Alistair exclaimed, getting into a sitting position. “Maker, have I ruined the mood?” he asked, no doubt noticing that Cullen was trying not to laugh, which caused him to shake instead.

“No. I… It’s so very you. I love it.”

Alistair rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“That was very useful - I feel much more… in control of myself now,” Cullen admitted. “But let’s get back on track.”

He took off his shirt and threw it to the side, before moving towards Alistair. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the intense way with which Alistair was staring at him.

“You’ve seen me shirtless countless times before,” Cullen said, one part embarrassed and nine parts pleased.

“One,” Alistair lifted a finger, “the context is entirely different. And two,” he lifted another finger, “I always stared at you when you were shirtless. I wonder that you’ve never noticed that.”

“I suppose I was too preoccupied with worrying if you noticed  _ me _ staring at  _ you _ .”

“We were such naive idiots.”

“We’re not idiots now.”

“No, we’re not,” Alistair agreed, taking off his own shirt.

Cullen was riveted by the sight before him. He could look as long as he liked, he realized, studying the sharp contours of muscles and gentle patterns of freckles on Alistair’s stomach, chest and arms. Maker, the Wardens honed his body beyond what Cullen remembered.

“I want to touch you,” he confessed.

“Please.” The desire in Alistair’s voice made Cullen lightheaded.

He sat on the bed next to Alistair, leaving a safe distance between them, and realized how absurd that action was. There was no point in distance, or in being safe, for that matter, and so he moved closer, pressing their thighs together.

Where to begin? he wondered. As he pondered that question, Alistair, somewhat impatiently, brought his head close and kissed Cullen. That simple gesture made Cullen forget his hesitation. His mind quieted and his instincts took over.

His hand first went to Alistair’s neck, but soon moved to trace the sharp line of his jaw, covered by that delightful beard, and then proceeded southward, touching his neck, then his chest, grazing over his nipple, which prompted a deep sigh, and finally tracing a curving pattern over the ridges of his stomach. Maker, all those muscles, all that strength – it was intoxicating. But there was something more awaiting him. Before he could start worrying and reconsider, Cullen moved his hand ever lower, his fingers gliding over the lacing of Alistair’s breeches, distended by his hard cock. At that, Alistair groaned and broke the kiss.

They looked at each other for a moment. Cullen found the end of the string holding the breeches closed, and waited. Without a second’s delay, Alistair nodded, and Cullen pulled. He worried that his hand would shake, but it seemed to work properly as he pulled the laces apart. Inwardly, he cursed the underclothes which Alistair wore. They prevented him from feeling his skin. If Alistair minded, he didn’t make it obvious. He gasped at each new touch, his lips parted and stretched in a lazy smile.

“I could come just like this,” Alistair confessed, confirming Cullen’s thoughts.

“Not like this,” Cullen told him firmly. “I don’t want even a stitch of clothing on you.”

Where did this confident voice come from? Cullen didn’t have the time to wonder, as Alistair scrambled to take off all of his clothing. There was a blush on his cheeks, but he was so very eager. There was no need for Cullen to assist him – all he did was watch. Without having to be prompted, Alistair moved up the bed and laid on his back, perfectly naked.

Perfect was a good word, Cullen decided, his gaze roaming hungrily over his lover’s body. He’s seen Alistair partially naked on innumerable occasions, but he’s also caught glimpses of him completely undressed in the baths. He remembered thinking that his cock was thick, and then admonishing himself for noticing such things. Now, having cast that old shame away, Cullen could admit that he was correct then. Alistair’s cock was thick, now even more so, engorged as it was. It also wasn’t frighteningly long – if Cullen were to put it in his mouth, he’d surely manage to take a fair amount of it. At the last thought, he felt a deep blush spreading over his cheeks. When he started this thing, he only thought of using his hands…

“Are… are you alright? Am  _ I _ alright?” Alistair questioned, shifting somewhat uneasily on the bed.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Cullen assured him quickly, turning to look at Alistair’s somewhat concerned face.

“Good. Good. It’s just that… You’ve been staring at my… You’ve been staring for so long that I started wondering if there’s something wrong with…” Alistair indicated his lower half with a broad gesture.

“No!” Cullen felt horrified that he could make Alistair think such a thing. “It’s fine. Very fine indeed. I was only thinking…”

“You do that a lot.” Alistair chuckled. “Please tell me that you didn’t start thinking about our next mission or…”

“I was thinking about…” Maker, there was no way that Cullen was actually going to voice his thoughts. “I was thinking of a thing I will do to you after our mission,” he finished. Perhaps hands were fine for now. After a successful Deep Roads expedition would surely be a better time for more daring acts.

Alistair visibly relaxed at his words.

“Will you give me a hint as to what that thing is?”

“No,” Cullen told him decisively, before crawling towards Alistair and kissing him.

“Not even the tiniest hint?” Alistair demanded, breaking the kiss.

Cullen wasn’t interested in deflecting with his words, so he pressed his mouth to Alistair’s more urgently, pushing his tongue in. At the same time, he repeated the journey his hand took, familiarizing himself with Alistair’s chest and stomach, before reaching his cock, at last bare under Cullen’s fingers.

It felt solid and heavy, as Cullen took a firm hold of it. Maker, it’s been a long while since he’s handed even his own erection. He certainly hoped that it was not something that one forgot how to do, or that Alistair liked things very much differently than he did. Well, if he did, then Cullen was going to learn.

For the moment, though, he started a steady pace. Ending the kiss, Cullen looked down at Alistair’s face, trying to gauge his reactions. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was open as he breathed deeply. Cullen tightened his hold, and heard a gasp. That was certainly encouraging. Experimentally, he swiped a thumb over the head of Alistair’s cock, and found a bead of moisture gathered there. Even more encouraging.

“Maker,” Alistair sighed.

Cullen felt himself grinning. He wasn’t doing badly at all.

He moved his hand with more certainty, his grip tight, but not overly so. Feeling bold, he increased his speed, aided in his task by the fluid leaking from the head of Alistair’s cock. That proved to be a good decision as well. Alistair was now pushing his hips up, eagerly meeting every movement Cullen made.

Alistair looked so perfect like that, lying under him, flushed and eager, wracked with pleasure, but desperate for more, making those obscene sounds – deep and unrestrained. Cullen wanted to tell him all of that, to say that he loved him, that he was the most remarkable sight in all of Thedas, but his voice failed him. Instead he kissed Alistair again, and groaned as his lover opened his mouth immediately. He couldn’t get lost in that kiss, he told himself, even though it would’ve been so easy.

Luckily he didn’t have to struggle for long. Just a few more quick strokes, and he felt Alistair coming under him. There was a broken sound reverberating against his mouth and a wetness covering his hand. He moved his head away, deciding that Alistair probably needed some room to breathe. He hovered over him, propped on one hand, the other still on Alistair’s softening cock.

At last Alistair opened his eyes slowly, and they seemed unfocused for a moment.

“I… Maker… This… You…”

Cullen laughed.

“Not too bad for my first time, I take it?”

“You could say that.” Alistair laughed as well. “I think it may be for the best that we didn’t start doing it in the monastery. I would’ve been walking around with the stupidest grin on my face, and everyone would’ve figured it out.”

Cullen felt himself smiling, as he rolled over to his back. Patting blindly over the floor, he found a scrap of fabric, which turned out to be Alistair’s underclothes, and whipped his hand on it, before passing it to Alistair, who cleaned himself up and threw them unceremoniously to the other side of the room.

If they were ever going to live someplace for a longer time, they were going to have to talk about Alistair’s propensity for discarding things randomly. But that was a very small worry for another day. For the moment, Cullen lay on his back with his head turned to the side, watching Alistair’s relaxed, grinning face. He wanted to see him like this always. Free of any and all cares, happy.

Perhaps feeling his gaze, Alistair turned to look back at him. In a flash the expression of perfect contentment was gone, replaced with a frown.

“I’m am just terrible,” Alistair announced, and before Cullen could protest, added, “I’m lying here like an idiot, while you’re… you’re still… I haven’t done anything for you!”

Oh, Cullen thought, that was correct. He did have an erection. Now that his attention was brought to that fact, the pressure in his cock felt overwhelming. But what a marvel it was that for so long he was able to ignore that fact, completely focused on Alistair.

“That’s quite alright,” he said at last, even though what he wanted to say was ‘Pleeeaseee’.

“May I?” Alistair asked, ever wishing to make sure Cullen felt comfortable.

This time Cullen couldn’t be polite or dignified.

“Pleeeaseee,” he breathed out.

Alistair didn’t need further encouragement. In a fraction of a moment he was working on Cullen’s breeches, and pulling them off, together with his underclothes, in one swift yank. Cullen groaned as his cock bobbed free from the confines of his garments.

He fully expected to feel the pressure of Alistair’s hand covering his erection, but just like he did before, his lover looked at him for what felt like a small eternity.

Cullen must’ve made some kind of a sound he wasn’t aware of, because Alistair was leaning over him, and whispering a quick “I’m sorry”, before taking hold of his cock.

His hand felt vastly different to Cullen’s own. Yes, it was large. Yes, it was strong. Yes, it was calloused. But there was no comparing. He’s never made himself gasp like that with just one touch.

This wasn’t going to take very long, Cullen knew from the first few deliberate strokes. He would’ve like it to - to have the time to appreciate all the sensations, to see what Alistair would try next.

Alistair twisted his wrist slightly and Cullen groaned shamelessly. There were fingers gently touching the head of his cock, and then a tight fist pumping his shaft. He didn’t know what to expect and the anticipation was exciting.

His eyes kept falling close, but once he opened them again, he saw a crease in Alistair’s brow, and Cullen was amazed anew that all this determination was focused on him. This incredible man cared for him deeply, wanted to please him. It felt like too much.

Again, he wanted to say something, but found that no words would come to him, so once more, he brought Alistair’s head down and kissed him. Alistair tried to kiss Cullen back and at the same time maintain the rhythm of his hand, but ended up breaking away after a few short moments, resting his forehead on Cullen’s.

“Maker, you’re far too distracting,” he whispered, his breath on Cullen’s lips. “But I’ll practice, as often as you’ll allow, and I’ll get better.”

Cullen moaned, partially at another twist of Alistair’s wrist, and partially at the thought of more nights like this.

“As often… as often as we can,” Cullen managed between breaths.

Alistair grinned above him, the movement of his hand sped up, and Cullen couldn’t look anymore. He was…

With a groan he hardly recognized as something that could come from his throat, Cullen came. The sensation took him over entirely. There was nothing but white hot pleasure.

It subsided in gentle waves, until his thoughts came back into some kind of a focus, still a bit muddled. Alistair’s smiling face was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

“Is it wrong that I’m more proud of this than learning most things they taught us in the monastery?” Alistair asked, moving to rest on his side.

“I don’t know. Does it really matter? You do have a reason to be proud,” Cullen told him. “I’m not sure when was the last time I was this relaxed.”

He wanted to remain like that for hours, but still he groped to find another piece of clothing to clean himself with. In the future they were going to have to have a designated cloth.

“Then my job here is done.”

“Is it, though?” Cullen replaced the undershirt on the floor. “I think we could do this again in a moment.”

Alistair’s smile widened.

That night they didn’t sleep nearly as much as they should have. They claimed that they weren’t making up for lost time, but Cullen knew that it wasn’t true. They’ve lost years, and one night wasn’t going to replace for that, but it was a start.

Maybe it was the nightmares they’ve both been experiencing intermittently for the past months which have gotten them used to a limited amount or sleep, or just the pleasure they’ve experienced counteracting any negative consequences of sleeplessness, but when the morning came, they felt ready to face the new challenges awaiting them.

Unfortunately, for the next two nights they had to be more restrained – Cousland informed them that they were about to go down into the Deep Roads, and for that, they had to be well rested and prepared for just about anything.

Cullen felt a twinge of fear as they neared the entrance. To be fair, no one in the party felt particularly optimistic. For one, paragon Branka has been gone for years, and the chances of finding her alive were very slim, and for another facing hordes of darkspawn in the depths of the earth, where no light penetrated, would make just about anyone uneasy. Even Zevran and Leliana, who usually led the loudest and most cheerful conversations, were uncharacteristically silent.

It was almost a relief when they were stopped by a very smelly dwarf, who claimed to be Branka’s husband, and wanted to join them. Cousland listened to him, then conferred with the rest of the party, and collectively they’ve decided to allow the dwarf, Oghren, to join them. He did appear to be overly fond of strong spirits, but another pair of eyes and an additional blade wouldn’t hurt, especially seeing as he was very motivated to succeed.

What followed were some of the most challenging days anyone in the party has ever experienced. The deeper they went, the worse their collective mood was. More and more frequent encounters with the darkspawn, some of which they’ve never seen before, made everyone feel constantly on edge. They all slept very lightly, waking up at any sound, because a noise in the dark could mean their swift death.

By the time they’ve found Branka, having had to deal with a broodmother beforehand, they were all exhausted, physically and mentally. What they’ve found out, made them feel exponentially worse.

Cullen was fascinated by golems ever since he was a child, seeing one every day in his small village of Honnleath, but finding out their origins caused him nothing but horror. They’ve encountered Cardin, the original creator of golems, turned into one himself when he disobeyed his cruel king. The creature explained that golems were living beings, turned into stone. It was monstrous. At first they were volunteers, but later on unwilling dwarves were forced into this unending servitude, many of them sold off to Tevinter.

Cullen’s blood boiled at the thought. Most of the party were equally appalled, none more so than Wynne, who called the procedure akin to blood magic.

In Cullen’s mind there was no other option but to kill Branka, who wanted to start the madness anew. It didn’t matter if the golems could aid them in the fight against the archdemon – the price was too high. They were the ones fighting monsters – they couldn’t become monsters themselves.

Cullen was prepared to argue the point, was gearing up for a speech, but it proved unnecessary – Cousland agreed with him completely. It was clear to Cullen that he didn’t contemplate taking Branka up on her offer even for a second. That made Cullen respect his leader even more than he already did.

Oghren protested, which was absolutely understandable, but in the end he had to accept that there was no other route for them to go down.

They were doing the right thing, and yet that fact didn’t make the proceedings much easier. Taking a life was never easy. It should never be.

In the end Cardin created a crown for them, and Cousland destroyed the Anvil of the Void, making it impossible for any future madman or despot to start making stone slaves. It was a good outcome - they’ve obtained the crown, the thing which they came to get, and at the same time prevented the horror of further golem creation. And yet none of them felt good. They were all beyond exhaustion. The return journey felt even longer than the descent. There were far less darkspawn, but that was a small comfort. They hardly spoke, all of them processing what they’ve experienced.

Upon their return to Orzamar, all they could think to do was sleep. The two candidates for king were awaiting them impatiently, but Cousland dismissed their envoys, insisting that he and his people had to rest before any monumental political decisions could be made. Cullen appreciated that gesture more than he could express.

Time passed strangely underground, without sunlight to regulate the daily rhythm. Cullen didn’t know if he awoke at the crack of dawn or in the middle of the night, but once they’ve left their room, he found out that he’s been asleep for nearly 20 hours. Perhaps he should’ve been ashamed of wasting time, but it felt like his body and mind needed that respite desperately.

Gathered in a small dining room for breakfast (or perhaps dinner, or supper), they’ve talked over the matter of the future king. Everyone seemed more alert and talkative, and the discussion grew a bit heated. It actually felt good, like they were back to normal. They were never going to forget the horrors of the Deep Roads, but they had to press on forward.

In the end more of their party supported prince Bhelen Aeducan. At first lord Pyral Harrowmont’s words about tradition and honor spoke to Cullen, but as time went by he understood that the prince’s vision of progress, open trade and acceptance of casteless dwarves was going to be more favourable for them, and for Ferelden as a whole.

After their meal, they went to face the Assembly. Cullen hoped that the proceedings were going to be smooth, but as it so often happened, his wishes did not come true. Prince Aeducan called for the execution of his opponent. Cousland tried to talk him out of the decision, but the prince’s will was unchangeable. 

Cullen understood the desire for vengeance - he himself felt it very keenly after his ordeal in Kinloch Hold, but the more he looked at the prince, the more he saw how wrong it was. Cullen didn’t wish to be that person - cold, angry, resistant to logic, opposed to mercy. That was not the way forward. Granted, there were some crimes which could not be forgiven, some offences which called for blood, but all things had to be considered with a cool head. Quick decisions driven by emotions were usually not the correct ones. Cullen was infinitely glad that he couldn’t act on his desire for vengeance when it first arose, and that he was now surrounded by people who were able to steer him in the right direction, who helped him to grow, heal and change his outlook.

He wished he could tell the prince that, to share his story. He said as much to Cousland, when the lord was being marched away. His companion only sighed wearily.

“I don’t think you can reason with a man who’s in such a state. He’s resentful and intoxicated with his new power. That’s the worst possible combination. He would not listen to you,” the Warden explained.

“Did we make the wrong choice?” Cullen asked, feeling the worry settling like a rock in his stomach.

“I… I wish I could tell you that we didn’t, but I don’t know.” Cousland pinched the bridge of his nose. “I feel tired again. I never wanted any of that. I do my best, I really do, I try, I ask for advice and think everything over ten different ways, but… Maker, what a fucking mess.”

In the span of a few sentences, Cousland seemed to have aged a decade. He was not the vibrant young man Cullen knew, but a middle aged man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Cullen didn’t feel confident either, but he knew that it was his duty to raise his friend’s spirits.

“You have an excellent track record,” he told Cousland earnestly. “You’ve managed to get support from both mages and Templars, you’ve saved the life of a young boy and his father, you’ve peacefully resolved the hostilities between the Dalish and werewolves. It’s not by accident. You’re a natural leader, and a good man. You want what’s best for people and you always try to achieve that with the least amount of bloodshed. You’ve taught me a great deal. I admire what you do.”

Cousland looked at him with a rather skeptical expression on his face.

“I do. I admire you,” Cullen repeated, hoping that he sounded as certain now as he felt. He was unsure about the prince, but not about Cousland’s abilities. 

Cousland gave him a half smile. That had to be good enough for the moment.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Cullen continued, “perhaps the prince can’t be reasoned with now, but hopefully he will grow to see his mistakes. We can all change, can’t we?”

Cullen wasn’t sure if he believed his own words. People could change, that was not under debate, but could a nobleman, surrounded by sycophants and bootlickers ever be challenged and forced to mend his ways? Cullen hoped that there’d be at least one person who would try to do that, but couldn’t be certain of that.

Still, the decision has been made and questioning it would not help them. Cousland, for his part, deserved some peace of mind.

“I think we can change. I hope we can.” Cousland didn’t seem completely convinced, but at least he was not as downhearted as before. “And who's to say that Pyral Harrowmont wouldn’t have done the exact same thing? Perhaps there was no right choice, but just the less wrong one?”

“Lord Harrowmont didn’t strike me as the forgiving type,” Cullen agreed.

“Thank you.” Cousland clasped Cullen’s shoulders. “Thank you for everything. I want you to know that I admire you too.”

Cullen knew that his face had to be a picture of utter shock. How could a man like Cousland admire someone like him?

“Don’t be surprised. You are a remarkable man. You are strong, kind and wise. You’ve gone through a terrible ordeal, which would’ve completely broken others. Yes, you’ve had weeks of anger, but you are not the man I’ve met in that tower. In the span of months you’ve grown tremendously. Now you are nothing if not compassionate and eager to help anyone. I’m proud to call you a brother.”

Cullen felt a lump forming in his throat. Those words truly touched him. He could not say anything for fear that he’d actually start crying, so he only nodded.

“Alright. Let’s see the crowning and get the new king to discuss the details of his aid to us,” Cousland decided.

The next hours they’ve spend participating in an overlong ceremony and later equally long discussions about provisions and troops. It was almost enough to allow Cullen to stop thinking about lord Harrowmont’s execution. He knew that he was never going to feel fine with what’s happened, but collecting regrets and torturing himself with them was not going to help. He couldn’t forget either - he had to learn from what’s happened and go forward.

That was what he did during the feast to celebrate the new king. He ate, he drank, he laughed with his friends. They were allowed to celebrate. In three days’ time they were going to be marching out with a sizable number of well trained dwarven warriors, ready to take back Ferelden from the darkspawn.

As the night wore on, Cullen could feel Alistair moving closer to him, touching him more often, whether consciously giving him signals or unconsciously seeking his closeness, and all he wanted to do was respond to those touches. Leaving Orzamar would mean tents, and tents would mean no privacy. They had to make good use of the room in the tavern.

Alistair had an arm around Cullen’s waist, and was laughing at an awful joke Zevran made, when Cullen decided that it was time to go. He yawned in an exaggerated fashion.

“I’m knackered,” he announced. “Aren’t you, Alistair?”

To drive the point home, he placed his hand on Alistair’s knee under the table.

“I… I am.” Alistair also yawned. “Shall we go?”

Cullen was halfway up when he noticed Zevran smirking. The assassin was not fooled. Neither was Leliana, the corners of her mouth tilted up over the rim of a cup. Morrigan was far too absorbed with Cousland to care about anyone else, thank the Maker, but even Wynn looked like she was repressing a smile.

Perhaps Cullens should’ve been embarrassed, but there was no malice or judgment in their companions’ expressions, so he bid them a good night, and left.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked him, as they left the feast hall and found themselves in a quiet corridor. “The past weeks were awful, and I could tell that what happened with lord Harrowmont disturbed you.”

Without thinking much, Cullen grabbed his hand. He didn’t care that they were still out in public - he had to show his affection to the man who cared so much for him.

“I will be alright, I know it. But let’s not talk of that now. I made you a promise before we left for the Deep Roads, and I intend to fulfill it tonight.”

Alistair regarded him carefully for a few moments, before smiling, apparently deciding to acquiesce to Cullen’s wishes and drop the unpleasant subjects.

“Do I get a hint as to what that could be?”

“Patience.” Cullen laughed at Alistair’s eagerness. “We’ll be in our room in no more than 20 minutes.”

“I’ve been very patient for years. I’ve exhausted my reserves of patience.”

Alistair was practically pouting, and it made Cullen laugh again. He suddenly felt no exhaustion. He was alive, very alive.

With that new found energy, he broke into a run, dragging Alistair behind himself. Soon it was Alistair taking over, pulling on Cullen’s hand, forcing him to speed up. They were both laughing as they maneuvered between intoxicated dwarves, who must’ve also been celebrating the new king being crowned. 

Once they reached their room, they were panting hard, trying to catch their breaths between laughs. Just when Cullen thought his heart started beating in a normal rhythm, Alistair pressed him into the doors and kissed him deeply.

“Thank you for taking my impatience into account,” he said, pressing his forehead to Cullen’s.

“With that in mind - take of your clothes,” Cullen ordered. That command should not have slipped out of his mouth that easily, and yet it did. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him, but he liked it.

And apparently so did Alistair, who blushed and grinned at the same time, scrambling to undress. Cullen watched him with rapt attention. The three nights they had together before leaving for the Deep Roads were not nearly enough for him to get used to the sight of Alistair baring himself. It still felt new and beyond exciting.

Alistair was standing before him in just his breeches before he stopped.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Aren’t you going to take of your clothes?”

“It’s not necessary for what I have in mind.”

It wasn’t that Cullen was opposed to undressing, but a part of him wanted Alistair to ask him to do so. 

Alistair stood stock still for a second.

“You mean to…” His words came out sounding breathy and awed, as he stared at Cullen’s lips intently.

“I do,” Cullen confirmed. He felt his own blush creeping up his neck, but he refused to make this more awkward than it needed to be, so he didn’t elaborate, lest he start to ramble or stutter.

Without more prompting, Alistair started working on the laces of his breeches with slightly trembling fingers.

“Still…” he started, somewhat timidly, “would you mind, uh, taking  _ something _ off?”

Cullen took of his boots and socks, which earned him an eye roll.

“Something else?” Alistair suggested, pushing his breeches down his legs.

Cullen was momentarily distracted by the sight of Alistair’s underclothes barely containing his erection, but he managed to compose himself enough to take off his jacket.

“Will I be pushing my luck if I ask for something else?” Alistair asked.

“You first.” Cullen was ready to do all that Alistair asked for, but at the same time he wanted to see how far he could push the other man. For a fleeting moment he wondered if that was wrong, but he dismissed that thought quickly - it was in the service of their mutual pleasure and how could that be wrong?

Alistair did as Cullen demanded, shucking off his underclothes quickly. He stood there, in the middle of their nearly bare room, himself completely naked, his arms at his side, fingers twitching slightly, as if he wanted to hide or touch himself, and resisting. Cullen couldn’t let him suffer that way, so he took off his undershirt, and strode towards his lover.

When he was within arm’s reach, Alistair grabbed him and kissed him again. Until that point Cullen felt perfectly in control, but it was Alistair who was leading that kiss, desperate and wanting, his mouth open, his tongue unrelenting.

It was almost enough to make Cullen forget his plan. Almost.

He kissed Alistair back and started walking him backwards to the bed. Once they were close enough, he broke the contact and gently pushed on Alistair’s chest, making him lie down. Alistair went easily, moving up, leaving plenty of space for Cullen.

As he lay there, Cullen contemplated his next steps. Should he prolong the experience, kiss his way down Alistar’s body, make him beg? Or should he not make him wait, just kneel between his legs and take him into his mouth as far as he could?

“I always worry when you think this hard,” Alistair said, sounding a bit concerned and yet amused.

“I hope to prove to you that when we’re in a bedroom, you don’t need to worry about my thinking,” Cullen assured. “If I were to ask you the question I was pondering, I think I know what you would’ve chosen.”

“You do know me better than anyone.”

That made Cullen feel an entirely emotional pang in his chest.

“You’re distracting me with sentimentality,” he told Alistar.

“That was not my intention. Believe me, I’m very eager for the… proceedings to commence.”

Cullen laughed at his polite turn of phrase, which was somewhat undermined by the way Alistair’s hands were roaming his own stomach, getting nearer and nearer to his erection.

“I will not delay the proceedings any further,” Cullen told him, kneeling on the bed, “if by proceedings you mean me sucking your cock.”

Cullen was momentarily mortified by his own words, but soon that emotion was forgotten as Alistair moaned, his legs falling open. That gave Cullen a much needed boost of confidence. He placed his palms above Alistair’s knees, steadying himself and moving into the most convenient position. Once he found it, he moved his hands up Alistair’s thighs, his fingers digging into the firm muscles there, before wrapping a fist around the base of his lover’s cock.

Without thinking, he wetted his lips with his tongue, and heard Alistair make another strangled groan. Cullen felt himself smirking, as he lowered his head, his mouth open wide to accommodate Alistair’s erection. He pushed on until he felt the head of Alistair’s cock touch the back of his throat. That was the limit for the time being, he decided. His lips formed a tight seal around Alistair’s girth, and he felt a shiver go through the other man.

Chancing a glance up, Cullen saw that Alistair’s eyes were screwed shut and his breathing was intensifying. That was a good sign. Cullen mentally chasitesd himself for resting on his laurels. That was very far from the end.

Gently, mindful of his teeth, Cullen moved up, until only the crown of Alistair’s cock was in his mouth. Hollowing out his cheeks, he sucked on the tender flesh, and heard Alistair moan. Cullen continued until the moans became less desperate, and moved to engulf the length in his mouth again.

This time when he came back up, he extended his tongue and traced a circle just below the head of Alistair’s cock, followed by another circle, just above, and another, higher still, and another and another until his tongue dipped into the slit at the very top, tasting the slightly salty precome. He didn’t mind the flavor, he realized with relief.

“Maker, Cullen, fuck,” Alistair gasped out.

Cullen looked up at his face and their eyes met. Alistair’s eyes were impossibly wide now.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” he begged.

Cullen did just that, parting his lips further and moving them down once more. Next time he was going to make Alistair wait, drive him to distraction, but this time he was going to do as he was asked.

He bobbed his head up and down, paying close attention to the crown of Alistair’s cock each time he reached it, alternating between licking and sucking. Truth be told, his jaw was getting rather tired, unused to such an activity, but he couldn’t stop. The sounds Alistair was making were keeping him going. He would never do anything that would stop those gloriously unrestrained moans and gasps spilling from his lover’s lips.

Those noises were getting progressively more desperate, until Alistair gasped out “I’m going to…” 

He didn’t finish the sentence, the rest of his words turned into a groan, as Cullen’s mouth filled with his seed. He had only a moment to prepare for that, but his instinct took over, and he swallowed, and continued to do so, until Alistair was finished, his cock slipping out of Cullen’s mouth.

As he was sitting up and wiping the corners of his mouth, he saw Alistar opening his eyes, his expression shifting from one of perfect contentment to worry.

“Maker, I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you sooner, I didn’t know it was going to happen just then, I truly didn’t, it was not my intention to…”

Cullen shook his head.

“It’s alright,” he assured. “I’m not saying that an earlier warning wouldn’t have been very convenient, but it’s fine. We’re new at this. Things are bound to happen.”

“You’re far too good to me.” Alistair smiled, appearing to relax. “Now come up and kiss me.”

He extended a hand to Cullen, who took it.

“You don’t mind that I just…?”

“If you don’t, then neither do I,” Alistair told him, pulling him down and kissing him with open mouth.

Cullen groaned into the kiss, and couldn’t help grinding his erection against Alistair’s stomach. Before he knew what was happening, Alistair was turning him over onto his back, and setting to work releasing him from his breeches.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind?” Cullen asked, somewhat stupidly.

“If I return the favor?”

“If you’d like. Don’t feel obligated just because I…”

Alistair shook his head.

“Perhaps you haven’t considered that, but I’ve spend many a lonely night imagining doing just that,” Alistair confessed.

Cullen felt his jaw go slack and his cock pulse with need.

“Maker,” was all he managed to say.

“I think he would’ve disapproved, seeing as I’ve had those thoughts in the monastery, sometimes during prayers,” Alistair confessed as Cullen’s breeches and underwear went flying.

Cullen groaned. It shouldn’t be so arousing to hear. And yet it was.

He couldn’t wonder about the sinfulness of such thoughts, because Alistair was steadying his cock with one hand and licking up the length of the shaft and over the head. It felt more intense than Cullen could’ve imagined. Part of the pleasure was also the sight before him. He watched with rapt attention as Alistair repeated his action, licking a new stripe of ski right next to the previous one, moving methodically, until the whole underside of his cock was wet with his saliva.

Just as Cullen was getting used to the sensation, Alistair switched tactics, only licking the tip of his cock with broad swipes of his tongue. Cullen felt his precome leeking out, but every time it did, Alistair would lap it up, and Cullen would let out a truly embarrassing sound. He would feel worse about the fact, if he didn’t see Alistair’s lips quirking into a smile.

When Alistair took the entire crown of Cullen’s cock into his mouth and started sucking on it, Cullen swore. This was beyond his expectations. It was one thing to imagine something, and even do that thing to someone else - it was quite another to experience it for oneself.

After a few moments, Alistair started taking more and more of Cullen’s cock into his mouth. He went maddeningly slowly, and Cullen couldn’t help thrusting up into his mouth slightly. As soon as he realized what he was doing, he wanted to stop, for fear that he was going to push Alistair too far, but Alistair only hummed, sending a shockwave through Cullen’s sensitive flesh. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, starting to speed up his movements, meeting Cullen’s thrusts.

Cullen felt pressure mounting within him, and then Alistair cupped his balls, rolling them gently, and Cullen was barely holding on to his control.

“I’m close, I’m so close,” he warned, but Alistair didn’t stop. He actually fondled Cullen’s balls more insistently.

Cullen opened his eyes, which have mysteriously closed on their own accord, and when his gaze met Alistair’s, his lover gave the tiniest nod with his mouth full of cock. That was all the permission Cullen needed. He stopped resisting - he relaxed entirely, giving himself over to the pleasure. One more pass of Alistiar’s clever mouth, and he was coming, gasping and groaning, grabbing fistfulls of bedding, as the relies tore through him. 

He came back to himself to find Alistair licking his bottom lip as he rested his head on Cullen’s thigh.

“I’m quite undone,” Cullen said, once his breathing has returned to normal.

“I did well, didn’t I.” It wasn’t a question, but rather an assertion. Alistair grinned proudly.

“Oh yes. So well in fact that I wonder how I’m going to survive traveling, not being able to do that. Or anything else.”

“I’ve had similar thoughts when I was in your place. Perhaps we could try being very very quiet?”

“It’s certainly worth a try.”

Alistair’s smile went even wider. He crawled up the bed and pressed a quick kiss to Cullen’s lips, before settling next to him, head on Cullen’s chest, their legs tangled.

“What’s the worst that can happen, anyway?”

“Morrigan will hear us and mock us relentlessly. Or Zevran will hear us and will be far too enthusiastic,” Cullen supplied.

“Still, I’m willing to chance it.”

“Me too,” Cullen admitted.

“Let’s have a tiny nap, and then try something very quiet. Just for practice,” Alistair suggested.

“Sounds like a plan.” Cullen kissed the top of his head, and dragged a blanket to cover their naked bodies.

Whatever happened before, whatever was going to happen, in that moment he was perfectly happy, falling asleep with the man he loved in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while... I'm sorry about that. It was a combination of real life intervening (I moved into my very own apartment), and me having one of my periods of "what if I actually can't write at all?" I'm not sure when the last chapter will come out, but unless I get run over by a bus, I will complete the story - I never leave things unfinished.
> 
> Toss a comment to your author? (I really enjoyed the Witcher, and the song is still stuck in my head)

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered what would've happened if Cullen were taken out of the Circle after his ordeal, how much quicker he would've recovered, and how his views on Mages would've changed. I also love the idea of him and Alistair being friends who always loved each-other, but never had the courage to confess their feelings.
> 
> I got the idea for this story about 2 years ago, and I've started wiring it our something like a year ago, but I didn't have the courage to post it. Recently I realized/panicked that it's 2000-goddamn-19, DAI is almost 5 years old, interest in the fandom has waned considerably, and so I'm not sure if there's an audience for this story, but on the off chance that there is, I can't let it just lounge in the purgatory of my Google docs. If you're reading this, and have enjoyed yourself, it would mean a lot to me if you could leave a comment or kudos.


End file.
